


i know the world's a broken bone

by yellowballoons



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Thoughts, this starts when they're kids btw, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-11-18 07:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowballoons/pseuds/yellowballoons
Summary: It takes a couple of years for anyone to believe that Klaus is anything but crazy. In the interim he finds solace with the dead.





	1. you looked at death in a tarot card

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings!
> 
> Please be safe and watch out for the following: descriptions of blood and injury (a la ghosts), mentions of pedophilia, and some demeaning language in regards to mental illness.

Before his powers come to light, his family thinks he's crazy.

Luther can throw things twice his size across the room, Five can teleport out of that room and into another, Allison turns rumors into reality, Diego curves knives when he throws them, and Ben has a Lovecraftian horror living in his stomach, but Klaus is crazy because he sees people no one else does. Right.

When he's younger his father assumes imaginary friends and scolds him. As he grows older his father realizes that his one-sided conversations and distant gaze aren't merely pieces of a childhood fantasy, that the horrific nightmares that leave him screaming, that wake his siblings and cause his voice to go hoarse, are not going to go away with time.

Psychosis is the obvious answer.

Reginald Hargreeves is a billionaire with a world to save. He has no time for a worthless, troublesome child. He orders monthly shipments of a well-tested antipsychotic and leaves Klaus in the care of Grace to fix it.

It doesn't work.

All the do pills are make him tired and give him headaches. The screaming ghosts already do that, so there isn't much of a difference whether he takes them or not.

Still, he takes his medication at the same time each day. He pretends he can't see angry men and women with their brains showing through their skulls or their guts hanging loosely out of their stomachs, acts like he can't hear their angry howls or the vengeful promises they whisper in his ears. Those are the ones he doesn't like, anyway.

There are a couple of nice ghosts, too, and he likes them but never talks to them around the others. The medicine doesn't work but he wants them to believe it does, doesn't want to know what they'll do if they realize that it doen't and never will.

Occasionally he slips, and they give him these _looks_. Some are irritated, some are confused, some are uncomfortable. He hates the pitying ones the most.

So he doesn't talk to the ghosts in front of anyone, but he does whisper to them alone in his room, or at night when he sneaks down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, or sometimes in the bathroom, but only when he isn't doing anything in there.

His siblings avoid him regardless, inching away when he comes close or just ignoring him entirely. He's too normal for his superpowered siblings and not normal enough for his powerless sister, so he hangs out with the dead instead.

Sometimes, the ghosts are nicer to him than his own family.

A girl, forever nine years old, likes to play I-spy. She tells him her name is Ellie, and they sit in on his bed making guesses while his siblings train. He thinks of her like a little sister, and she looks up to him like a big brother.

A grandmother of four that died peacefully in her sleep intoduces herself as Margaret. She says an old woman can never have enough grandkids, and painstakingly teaches him to knit with kind eyes gentle words.

A young soldier, Kyle, hovers by his bed when he wakes up trembling. His voice is steady as he talks him through the final dredges of a nightmare. He watches over him like an older brother, unwavering.

So yes, some ghosts scream and rage and hate him for the simple fact that he is alive and they are dead. But some ghosts laugh at his jokes and tell him stories of their life and play games with him. They try to help him ignore the others, even if it rarely works.

He learns what a parents love truly feels like the first night he sees his mother, her pale nightgown stained by the blood running down her legs.

She appears out of nowhere, crying as soon as she sees him, an unfamiliar language passing through her lips as she tries to hold him and fails.

He's frightened at first as she grabs at him, her fingers vanishing into his skin, incorporeal. She pulls away at his obvious flinch, face solemn. "Es tut mir leid," she whispers quietly, backing away.

"I-It's okay," he finally murmers, guilt replacing the previous fear. He smiles at her and hopes it will stop her from looking so sad. She smiles back, still crying, and disappears again.

Klaus tries to ignore the sudden emptiness in his heart at the loss. His sleep is worse than usual, too. He rarely sleeps through the night but this time he doesn't sleep at all, even when Margaret sings him his favorite lullaby. His legs feel like lead when he makes his way to breakfast.

She pops up suddenly while he's eating, nearly causing him to spill his orange juice in surprise. He catches himself by faking a cough and excuses himself hurriedly. Nobody so much as bats an eye as he rushes back to his room, more than used to his less-than stellar etiquette.

The woman follows behind, looking less sad and more amused. It's a nice change.

She sits at the foot of his bed as he locks his door, grinning brightly. "Hello!" She says brightly when he's done, looking excited. "My name is Helena." Her accent is rather thick, but still easy to understand as she clearly enunciates.

"Hi!" He's just as excited, relieved that she came and back struck by the fact that she seems to have learned a new language just to talk to him. "My name's Klaus."

She nods like she already knew that, which isn't that far-fetched, as most of the dead seem to. Ghost like to gossip, apparently.

She takes a deep breath, even though Klaus is pretty sure ghosts don't actually need to breathe. She looks nervous but hopeful, smiling shakily.

"You are my son," she finally says, words slow and clear.

The world seems to freeze. He stares at the woman in front of him, looking for a lie or manipulation, because ghosts can be cunning like that.

All he can see is the way her dark hair falls in her green eyes, the way she's dressed for bed and bloody like she died unexpectedly, or during an unexpected childbirth.

The truth reverberates in his mind, _you are my son._

His vision blurs with tears as he looks at his mother. It feels like a piece of himself has been found, one that he didn't even realize was gone until this moment.

They both go to hold each other before they can think better of it.

Klaus doesn't see the way his hands glow blue, or feel the power thrumming in his veins. He sees his mother smiling at him, arms open. He sees his mother, and he hugs her.

An old knitting needle pokes him as they sink to the ground, but he barely notices it. They're both sobbing openly, clutching at each other desperately on the messy floor of his bedroom. 

She pets his hair and rocks him, murmuring quiet words he in a language he doesn't understand but takes comfort in anyway.

He calms down after the initial shock, shaky hands gripping his mother's nightgown tight enough to wrinkle the fabric, and pulls his face away from where it's smushed against in her shoulder.

"Mom," he gasps out, crying again as she cradles his face in her hands and wipes away a stray tear with her thumb, eyes soft and full of love.

She hushes him softly, gently pulling him back into an embrace. "I am here now, mein Sohn. It is okay."

They stay like that until he falls asleep, his ear against a chest where a beating heart should rest but doesn't.

When Klaus wakes up he's freezing cold and achy from sleeping on the floor.

Goosebumps rise across the bare planes of his arms and legs as he makes his way back onto his bed, still tired even though he must have slept for quite a while.

It's dark out, with only a sliver of moonlight peaking through his curtains to illuminate his surroundings. His eyes droop closed without his permission while he struggles to pull a blanket over his shivering form, and the last thing he sees is his mother hovering comfortingly by his feet.

Klaus wakes up for the second time to the blaring of his alarm clock. He's more well-rested than he's been in years, probably, and he gets out of bed with an almost-giddy feeling.

"Good morning," he greets the spirits scattered across his room.

Kyle and Margaret only glance over briefly to aknowledge him before resuming their conversation, but Ellie perks up immediately.

"Is it true?" She asks, voice loud enough to make Klaus worry that someone might hear before remembering that he's the only one who can. "I can't understand Helena very well, but she says you touched her!"

Helena, his mother, smiles from behind the little girl. "Good morning," she says, slightly accented.

He gawks at her, having been half-convinced he'd dreamt the entire experience. But Ellie can see her, can talk to her, and Margaret and Kyle smile at her words, so if she's not real non of them are. Even if they're all just hallucinations the way everyone says, he thinks he wouldn't mind it too much.

"Good morning," he echoes, stupid smile growing on his face as he looks at her. He wants to say more, to ask her about herself even if she might not understand the words or know how to answer him in English, but he's interrupted by a light knock on the door.

"Breakfast in ten minutes, Klaus!" Grace calls cheerfully from outside the door. He waits until he can no longer hear the clack of her heels before turning back to his mother, good mood gone.

"I- uh. I have to go for a little bit," he whispers, careful to make sure no one else will overhear if they walk by. "But we can talk later, okay?"

Helena looks confused, unsure of what he's said but aware of his sudden dejection.

He changes out of yesterday's clothes and into a new uniform quickly, unconcerned about propriety. Being constantly surrounded by ghosts leaves little room for privacy. The nice ones look away politely, and he ignores the leers from the less-than-nice ones with practiced ease.

He moves towards his mother once he's fully dressed, wanting to touch he again but afraid he'll slip right through her. He settles for standing right in front of her, a hair breadths away. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

She nods, smile unsure. "Ja. Soon."

He stays there a moment longer, wrestling with the urge to hug her again and his fear of not being able too.

She makes the decision for him, glowing blue as she takes him into her arms once more. "Goodbye, Klaus," she murmers into his hair.

He starts crying again, shoulders shaking under her hands as she hums a soft, foreign song under her breath. He doesn't want to go, doesn't want to eat in silence with people that can barely stand to look at him, but he has to.

He finally pulls back, hastily wiping away his tears as he smiles shakily. "Goodbye, Mom." She gives a final kiss on the forehead before letting him go.

He makes it to the breakfast table later than everyone else but still on time, mind wandering as Grace places his plate in front of him.

"Thanks," he pauses, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of calling her 'Mom' after having met his actual mother. "...Grace," he finally settles on, looking at his juice instead of her face.

Her ever-present smile seems to twitch, but a moment later she looks normal again, "You're welcome, dear." She moves back to stand behind Reginald as they all begin eating.

Klaus is scoffing down his pancakes- he's extra hungry after missing both lunch and dinner the day before- when Reginald sets his cutlery down with a soft but deafening clank. All of them freeze immediately, food halfway or already in their mouths. Klaus continues slowly, hunger overtaking his self-preservation instincts.

Somehow their father manages to look both exasperated and stern at the same time. "Number Four," he begins, suddenly looking straight at him.

Klaus almost chokes on his bacon in surprise, unused to being addressed. He'd been weighed and found wanting, left to his devices outside of the classes they all must take. It's rare for anyone but the dead or Grace to pay him any attention at all.

He swallows his food quickly, trying and failing to catch one of his siblings' eyes in the hope that they'll know what's happening. They look just as confused as him, though, so he gives up and looks at their father instead.

"Yes, Sir?" He replies, forgoing his usual glib 'daddy' in the hope that it will prevent his inevitable punishment for doing God-knows-what. Sleeping all day? It's not like anyone tried to wake him up.

One of the ghosts in the room, a tall man bleeding from a deep knife wound in his torso, cackles gleefully. "Klaus," he croons mockingly, "Why don't you call me Sir?"

Klaus bites his tongue to keep from answering and glares at him. He's been haunting Klaus for the better part of the week, popping up randomly to tell him about the 'mean little boy' that managed to get away and stab him in the process. He says Klaus is much prettier, and always follows him to the bathroom. Klaus hasn't showered in a few days.

Reginald catches this."Who do you see?" His father demands, pulling Klaus' gaze away from the ghost.

"What?" He asks, bemused. Everyone seems to be staring at him and his skin is crawling from the sudden attention.

"Who do you see?" His father repeats, voice raising, "What do they look like, what are their names?"

The questions startle him. No one has ever asked him about the ghosts, the hallucinations. Their eyes search for what only he can see and their eyebrows furrow in confusion when there's nothing there, and they hurry away like they might catch what he's got if they stay near him a moment longer. They don't ask questions.

"Number Four," his father hisses when he doesn't answer, low and dangerous. "Answer me."

"I—" Klaus stutters, overwrought. His eyes flicker from ghost to ghost. He's not supposed to talk to them, or about them.

His father stands up from his seat, the chair making a screeching noise as it's pushed back. He leans forward to regard him coldly, hands flat against the table. "I will not ask again."

Klaus feels his heartbeat quicken, pounding like a battering ram against the steel-inforced doors of his ribcage as panic sets in.

"There's a man," Klaus bursts out quickly, furtively looking away from his father and towards a random man in the corner that seems to be enjoying the spectacle. "He's about— 30?" He offers, unsure.

The man huffs like that offends him, "I'm twenty-eight!"

"Uh, he's twenty-eight. Brown hair, blue eyes. About as tall as you. He's wearing jeans and t-shirt with some band on it," he squints to see better, "The Chemicals? Never heard of them." That really seems to piss the guy off, because suddenly he's not there anymore.

"I think I made him mad. He's gone now." Klaus wonders if it's possible to annoy other ghosts into leaving him alone. He turns back to his father, expectant and nervous.

"Another one," he demands. Klaus can't help but deflate.

He usually tries not to look at all the dead that hover over his father, the men and women who haunt him. He's scared of his father for a good reason, can see what what the man is capable of with his own eyes.

"There's a woman, just behind you." She looks at him with wide eyes, scared. Her neck is at an odd angle and when she goes to speak all that comes out is a wet choking noise.

Klaus hates looking at ghosts like that; the ones who died horrifically and painfully, their fear following them to the afterlife. He stares at his half-finished plate instead, appetite gone.

"She might be in her twenties? With brown hair and eyes." He peeks over at her again quickly, taking in her clothing so that he won't have to look at her face. "She's wearing a button-up shirt under a vest, and a knee-length skirt. And—" he hesitates, unsure of how to continue.

"And?" His father prompts impatiently, peering at him intently.

"She... I mean, her neck is, um. Broken? Like she fell down the stairs, or something." He keeps his gaze down, wanting nothing more than to disappear. The gurgling sound of the woman choking on her own blood echoes in his ears.

His father sits back down, seemingly satisfied by his stammering response. "I see. Well, it seems that an error has been made. You are not as powerless as we once assumed. We'll begin training after morning classes," he declares, recollecting his cutlery to resume eating. "Finish your breakfast, children."

After a tense, silent, infinite but infinitesimal moment, they do.


	2. you look so good in blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus begins training (fun) and helps out a ghost in the process (not so much fun)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i play fast and loose with klaus' powers, and also how ghosts work in general. my city now.

Staying after his daily classes feels incredibly weird. Klaus almost walks out of the door after their final lesson, stopped only by Grace's hand on his shoulder as goes to leave.

"Training is about to begin, silly," she says, gently guiding him back into the room. "I know this is new, but you can't be running off!"

"Right, sorry. I forgot," he lets her lead him, minutely looking back to send Ellie an apologetic smile.

She always waits for him by the door until he finishes his classes, occasionally listening to material if it catches her interest. They usually walk back to his room together, quietly playing I Spy on the way, but he has training now.

Ellie pouts when he mouth 'sorry' to her, stomping her way over to him. "Fine! But I'm staying with you, even if we can't play."

Klaus nods as he falls in line with the rest of his siblings, excuding Vanya. She stands next to their father instead, pad of paper and pen in hand to take notes for him. She watches him take his place with something like envy in her eyes, and he knows in that moment that they both wish she was there instead.

Reginald clears his throat. The others straighten and clasp their hands behind their backs, standing at attention. Klaus follows suit awkwardly, steadfastly ignoring Ellie's snorting laughter.

"You look so dumb!" She crows playfully, and Klaus can't stop the grin that forms on his face. He probably does look pretty stupid.

"Number Four," interrupts his father. He watches him closely as he turns away from Ellie, pensive. "As your ability has only recently been discovered, we shall begin with you first. There is someone with us here now, is there not?"

 _Been discovered_ , he says, as if Klaus hasn't been talking to the dead since he could speak.

He gives Ellie a questioning look, unsure if she's okay with him talking about her. She nods excitedly, beaming like the sun. "Yeah! Show 'em who's boss!" She punches the air to illustrate her point, arm going through Five's head and causing him to shiver.

"Uh, right. She just punched you in the head, Five. Sorry about that," he says, grinning impishly at the way his normally prideful and composed brother gapes like fish.

"Fascinating," his father murmers. Klaus might have been worried about the way he seemed to be staring at her if not for how his gaze was just a bit too much to the right. He turns to Klaus next, "Describe her."

"She's nine. Blond hair, brown eyes." He looks at her one more time, and she raises an eyebrow as if to say 'well?' so he continues, "She's wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with watermelons on it."

His father nods along, contemplative. "And do you know how she died?" Klaus can't help but grimace at the question, furtively checking with Ellie to make sure she's okay.

Her face seems to drain of color, paling even though her veins no longer pump blood. She looks at him wide-eyed, lower lip wobbling. Her eyes squeeze shut, refusing to let out any tears.

"I-It's okay Klaus," she stutters over a choked back sob, hands rubbing at her eyes harshly. "Yuh-you can tell him." She disappears with a wet hiccup.

He stares at the spot where she stood for a quiet moment. "I don't know," he lies.

Father hums absently, unconcerned. He doesn't look particularly disappointed, but neither does he look pleased. "Another one, then."

His seem siblings rouse at that, annoyed but being careful not to show it lest they face their father's wrath.

"Father," Five starts, the first to disagree openly, "Don't you think we should focus on something other than Klaus' stories? Like, let's says, actual training?"

Stories. Like he's making up the corpses that haunt him, like he only pretends to see them in all their bloody, broken glory. Like he wants everyone to think he's crazy when he giggles at a joke no one else can hear, or think he's lying when he complains about their screaming keeping him awake. _Stories_.

"I have determined that Number Four does indeed have an ability. What were previously believed to be falshoods have been carefully scrutinized and proven true. As I plan to introduce the Academy to the public in one year's time, we must focus on developing his... lackluster skills," Father announces, grimacing as if admitting his own failure truly pains him. "You may spar while we continue. Number Seven, take notes."

Vanya nods, grasping her pen tightly. She spares Klaus a final glance before following her siblings to the training mats.

"Number Four," his father prompts. Klaus peers around the room, debating who to describe. His mind wanders back to Ellie, the way her wide eyes watered and her whole body trembled as she tried to hold back her sobs.

He's never asked any of the spirits how they died, can usually see it for himself because they rarely seem to change after the fact.

Kyle still wears his dirty army fatigues, a bullet wound just below his hip seeming to bleed sluggishly on occasion.

Margaret is always in a pair of plaid pajamas. She told him while she showed him a new stitch that her husband had a matching set, and that they both went to bed in them the night she passed away.

Ellie, barefoot and dressed for summer, is still soaking wet like she just got out of the lake, even though she never got the chance to. Water seems to drip from her hair, but it disappears just before it touches the ground.

Ghosts wear their death on their sleeves, impossible to hide. Klaus finds comfort in always knowing this one thing about them, feels guilty for that comfort and how they can't seperate themselves from it.

Sometimes he wonders if there's a way he can help or if all he's ever going to be is a spectator, just like them.

A woman screams for help to his left, croaking and hoarse. Her eyes are glazed over when he tries looks into them, unseeing. His father looks impatient, so this seems good enough.

"A woman," he starts, really looking at her now. She grapples at her throat, even though there's nothing there but an angry red bruise. Strangulation, then. No wonder her voice sounds so rasping.

"Green eyes, black hair, a red dress with matching heels," he continues, listing off everything he can see of her without getting too sick.

Strangulation isn't particularly grisly compared to some of the stuff he's seen but it's hardly pretty, either. Especially with the way she's seems to be stuck in a loop, remembering it and fighting back with no chance.

Every second that she struggles against her invisible assailant and every sobbed out ' _no, no, no_ ' chafes at his nerves, makes the helpless guilt squeeze tighter around his heart. He stares at her grasping fingers and wonders what they reach for, if her murderer used a rope or wire or their bare hands.

One more choked off cry and he can't take it anymore, moving towards her and trying to pull her out of this seemingly endless cycle. "Hey. Hey. It's okay, they can't hurt you anymore."

She can't hear him, unfocused eyes panicked and pouring as her hands pull at nothing, "Please! Please stop!"

Reginald watches on in interest as Klaus seems to try and grab at thin air, frustration clear in his features.

"It's okay!" he says again, desperate as she continues crying out.

"Help me!" She begs, deaf to his attempts at comfort.

Something cracks, like thunder just before lightning. The lights flicker, static electricity sparking in the air and causing his siblings to pause their sparring and look over, curious.

Klaus' hands glow blue as he gently clasps the woman's shoulders, shining an equally bright cyan. Her previous screams dwindle to nothing as she clenches her empty fingers, puzzled.

She drops her arms to her side as her gaze finally focuses on the child in front of her. "Wha-what?" She mutters quietly to herself stumbling backwards. Louder, "Where am I? Where'd he go?" She looks around wildly, panicked and disoriented.

"He's gone," Klaus promises, relieved to hear her screams stop and dreading having to tell her the truth.

She stares down at him, eyes flickering to his hands as he holds them up in what he hopes is a nonthreatening way. Their blue glow visibly connects to her and she makes a frightened noise as she tries to slap at it.

"What the hell?" She yelps, her hand going through the mist-like energy harmlessly.

Klaus can't help but grimace. He hates talking to the newly deceased anyway, but making them corporeal definitely adds a new level of difficulty to the whole 'you're dead' discussion.

"Oh boy, where to start," he laughs nervously at her bewildered look. "Okay, I'm gonna rip the band aid off. You're—"

"I'm dead," she whispers, hands wrapped gently around her throat, gaze a million miles away. "He killed me."

Klaus watches her quietly, unsure. Learning that you're dead is traumatic, and he's seen a lot of ghosts deal with it in a lot of different ways. There's usually a pattern, though.

The five stages of grief don't only affect the living. Denial seems to have passed, which means that it's time for—

"That motherfucker!"

Anger.

"I'm gonna fucking murder him! I'm gonna cut off all his finger, and then his toes, and then his dick! I'll cut off his eyelids, too, so he'll have to watch! I'm not even going to gag him because I want to hear him scream! And then, when he's about to pass out from the blood loss, I'll finally choke him to death!"

A _lot_ of anger.

Klaus watches the woman pace in front of him, her face scrunched up in fury and her fingers tightening around air like she's imagining the act of strangling her killer to death.

"Fascinating," his father murmers, watching her nod to herself as she continues on her furious tirade.

Fascinating is certainly one way to put it.

Klaus' siblings huddle up together, glancing from the dead woman to their brother to their father dubiously, and muttering under their breath in bewilderment. Klaus is pretty sure he one of them say 'what the hell' even though they aren't suppose to curse.

The woman finally stops in the middle of the room, having calmed down at least a little bit to look around in confusion. "Wait, where am I? I didn't die here."

Reginald takes a step forward, drawing all eyes in the room easily as he tells her.

"What? I was just in LA, how did I get here?" She looks frustrated, probably because her plot of imminent murder has been put on hold for the time being.

Klaus clears his throat awkwardly, "Ah, that's probably my fault? I'm kind of a... beacon. For the dead." He can't help but grimace at his own word choice. A lot of spirits have admitted to being inexplicably drawn to him, often appearing to him completely by accident and with no idea of how they got there.

The woman slowly nods in understanding. "Yeah, I can see that," she agrees. "Does that mean I have to stay here?" She looks rather disapponted at the idea, and he can't help but sympathize. He doesn't even want to spend his life here, let alone his afterlife.

"No, no, definitely not," Klaus assures her. "Lot's of ghosts can leave. I'm not entirely sure how, though. Um, one second." He peers around in hopes of finding one of the nicer spirits, the ones that come and go as they please. No luck.

"Kyle!" He yells instead, startling just about everybody but his father, who watches on with an unreadable expression.

Kyle pops up right in front of him, looking worried and causing the woman to jump in surprise.

"Klaus? Are you okay?" Kyle asks immediately, because he's sweet like that. Klaus just grins at him.

"I'm okay. Just needed a little help with..." He pauses, not knowing what to call her. "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Karma," she answers, still studying Kyle. "Hey, why isn't he blue?"

"Karma— wow. That is so fitting. My life is a cosmic joke. Anyway, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Karma. She doesn't know how to leave and I don't know how you guys leave, so could you help her out?" He ignores her question, though she doesn't seem to notice.

Kyle gives him a longsuffering look, cut with enough affection that Klaus doesn't worry too much about annoying him. He turns to Karma and get right down to business, "Think of a specific person or place you want to go to. Focus on it, and you should be able to teleport there."

She gives him a dubious glance. "Right. Okay. I'll just... teleport."

"Teleport?" Five interrupts, looking intrigued. "You can teleport?"

She laughs. "Fuck if I know, kid. But I'm gonna try." She rolls her shoulders and closes her eyes, face pinching in expressive concentration. She stays like that for a whole minute before opening her eyes in a huff. "It's not working."

"Klaus," Kyle pipes up, gaze assessing at it goes from Karma to him, "You're using your power on her, right? Making her visible and everything?"

"Yeah. I, uh, I needed to be able to touch her earlier." Klaus agrees, looking at his still glowing hands and thinking about the way she was crying earlier. He swallows, "She wasn't doing too good."

Kyle nods in undertanding, familiar with dying violently and the way it sticks in the afterlife. "Well, you should probably stop. I don't think she can go too far when she's connected to you like that."

Klaus' eyes widen in comprehension. "Oh, right! Great idea, Kyle. Lemme just..."

He closes his eyes, tries to think of how to stop his power. With his mom it just kind of... went off. He thinks of pulling away, imagines the blue vanishing, willing it out of existence. He opens his eyes.

The glow around Karma suddenly dissipates as she goes incorporeal again, looking determined. "Okay, one more time." She barely finishes her sentence before disappearing.

Klaus dreads the day she realizes she isn't going to be able to kill her murderer, but he turns to look at Kyle instead of entertaining that particular train of thought, "Thanks for the help. Is Ellie doing okay?"

"She was pretty upset when she got back to your room, but she calmed down soon enough. She's playing I-Spy with Margaret right now," Kyle assures him, still looking worried. "Are you sure you're okay? I know dealing with ghosts like that wears you down."

Klaus shrugs, purposefully nonchalant. There's a headache blooming just behind his eyes and he want nothing more than to lay on his bed and spend some time with his friends, but training isn't over yet and he knows it.

He wants to say no, wants to admit that he isn't okay and doesn't think he ever has been or will be, but he knows that it won't change anything because the only people who care are dead.

"Peachy keen, jelly bean," he says instead. "Great, now I want jelly beans."

Father seems to get tired of his babbling, as he calls him back to the others. "An interesting development, Number Four. We will continue working on this another time. For now, we need to assess your physical capabilities."

Klaus nods, sending a salute to Kyle as he goes and avoiding his siblings suddenly interested gazes. He's never had to work out the way they have and it's going to show if he has to fight them.

God, he hopes he doesn't have to fight them.

"Number Three, Number Four, onto the mats," their father demands. No such luck, then. Klaus can only be glad it isn't Number One. Luther would _destroy_ him.

Allison takes up a stance in front of him, feet planted firmly and arms raises in preparation. Allison is going to _destroy_ him.

She totally does, but she's nice about it and doesn't leave too many bruises, so Klaus figures it went about as well as could be expected.

His father has him spar with all of siblings but Vanya, who watches and takes notes diligently from the sidelines as he gets his butt handed to him each time.

After Luther he gets a break. He chooses to spend it lying on the ground, because moving hurts. Grace gives him a glass of water and an apple that he gingerly sits up to eat, but after that he goes back to staring up at the ceiling and trying not to move too much.

The others continue sparring in his absence, Allison against Five and Luther against Diego. Ben sits down next to him, the odd one out.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, eyes darting over to their father to make sure he isn't looking.

Klaus hums vaguely in his direction, confused. "For what, Benny-boo?" He asks, not loud but not exactly quiet, either.

Ben seems to flush in embarrassment immediately, ducking his head. "For not believing you when you said you saw ghosts."

Klaus laughs suddenly, making Ben start and surprising even himself. "You mean for thinking I was crazy? Everyone did. Don't worry about it."

He's isn't bitter. He's _not._

The thing is, he gets it. Gets why no one ever believed him. He saw things they couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't believe in, because no one wants to believe in ghosts. Not the kind he sees, with torn flesh and missing limbs and empty eyes, screaming for help that will never come.

He gets it, but it still hurt.

It hurt when no one believed him, when they called him a liar and told him to stop making stuff up. It hurt worse when they said there was something wrong with him, that he wasn't right in the head. That he was crazy. It hurt. But he got over it, and he's fine. He has Margaret and Ellie and Kyle and his mother, and none of them have ever doubted him. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

"Seriously, don't worry about it." He smiles at Ben, pats him on the back. He even gets a shy smile back. Progress.

After sparring they move onto other workouts.

Klaus never got to participate in the whole running-up-the-stairs thing, but he has watched his siblings do it occasionally. Sometimes he'd make bets with Margaret and Kyle about who'd come in second, knowing that Five always came in first when he used his power.

Now he stands at the foot of the stairs, and as they wait for the timer to start he wishes that he could bet on Diego. He's been raring to go since losing to Luther earlier, and there's a gleam in his eye that promises trouble.

Klaus is just spotting Kyle, Margaret, and Ellie (oh my!) when the timer finally goes off. He can barely spare them a wave before getting caught up in the moving crowd. He sticks to the end of the pack, just behind them but keeping up as best as he can.

Five teleports to the top halfway through, Diego elbows Luther out of the way to follow him and Allison ducks under Luther to make third. Ben stumbles barely a foot from the top, nearly toppling back down before Klaus catches him and gets him back into balance with a cheerful "Careful, bro!"

They make it to the top in one piece, Klaus panting more than his siblings as he doubles over with his hands on his knees.

"Oh, my spleen," he gasps out, clutching at his aching side.

Five arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That's not where your spleen is."

"Well, wherever it is, it hurts." He finally straightens up, pushing back his sweat-slicked hair in disgust.

Training finishes with little fanfare, their father noting where they've improved and where they need improvement.

"Number Four," he adresses Klaus lastly, "You have quite a ways to go before catching up with the others. I expect diligence and attentiveness. Do you understand?"

Klaus wants to point out that it's not _his_ fault that he's so behind, that he could have been on par with his siblings if he'd actually been allowed to train with them, but he knows better.

He studies the ghosts behind his father to remind himself of why he can't say any of that. Finds that brown-haired woman who can't do anything but gurgle her own blood and haunt his father. Klaus looks until he can't anymore, nausea settling in his stomach.

"Yes, father. I understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what i'm doing but i actually managed to update!! yeehaw babey!!


	3. leave the ground and find some space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus has a good day and a bad night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> Sexual harassment of a minor (the perv from chapter 1 is back, sorry) and some suicidal thoughts and ideation. 
> 
> Be safe and enjoy!

Klaus makes his way to the library after lunch, set out on a self-imposed mission.

He doesn't read much himself, but sometimes he'll a grab a book for Margaret or another ghost and flip through it so that they can.

Margaret is especially fond of the Sherlock Holmes novels, always asking to read them after visiting her daughter Irene. Klaus enjoys them too, and may or may not hide them under his bed so that he can find them easily when she comes back.

This time he passes the fiction section, instead hoping to find an English to German dictionary so he can start to understand at least a little bit of what his mom says to him.

The language barrier frustrates them both when all they want to do is have a conversation and they can't manage much more than a 'hello'.

Learning a new language is slow-going, with Helena leaving for hours on end only to come back and ask where the bathroom is. Klaus is pretty sure she's been haunting a high school English class, and a shitty one at that.

He doesn't just want to sit back and watch as his mother stumbles through short sentences, desperately trying to connect. He also wants to stutter his way through basic German phrases in a bad accent. Solidarity, you know?

So he flits through the various books, pulling them out and then shoving them back when he can't find what he's looking for. By the time he groes through all the books he can reach he's almost exasperared enough to start climbing the shelves just so that he can grab the ones that are above his head.

He's looking for possible hand holds and debating the likelihood of cracking his skull open if he falls when he hears soft footfalls just behind him. He turns around just as Pogo comes to a stop, looking surprised to see him.

"Master Klaus," the chimpanzee greets, looking at him rather dubiously. Klaus would feel offended if not for the veritable hoard of novels tucked under his bed at the moment. "Is there something I can help you find?"

"Hi, Pogo!" Klaus chirps back, "Do you know if we have anything that could help teach me German?"

"German?" Pogo repeats, sounding surprised. "That's certainly an... interesting choice."

Klaus stops to look at him, really look. He's never thought much about Pogo, to be honest. Klaus doesn't have anything against him, has always found always him to be polite if distant, but now he stares at him and wonders what he knows.

He grins at the chimpanzee, brushing away his suspicious thoughts. "I'm an interesting person."

Pogo nods in agreement, "Indeed you are."

He turns to peer at the shelves of books, humming to himself pensively. "I'm not entirely sure, but I believe we have some foreign language dictionaries somewhere around here. Why don't we look together?"

"Oh, I don't want to be a bother. I can keep looking by myself." Klaus turns back to bookcase and waves him away.

"You're hardly a bother, Master Klaus. My schedule is clear for the day," Pogo assures kindly. Well, it's not like an extra pair of eyes is gonna hurt anything.

Klaus nods, "Sure, Pogo. Thanks."

They spend another half hour searching through bookcases to no avail. Pogo eventually offers to leave and find for a ladder so that they can reach the higher shelves and continue looking. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the foresight to tell the child to not to try and climb up on his own.

If he were any of the other children this wouldn't be a problem, but Klaus is reckless on the best of days and completely indifferent towards his own morality.

He's a good eight feet from the ground when he spies the word 'German' on the spine of a bright yellow book.

It's just out of reach when he goes to grab it, so he tightens his grip and stretches up on his tippy-toes to get a few inches taller.

Straining, his fingers finally manage to wrap around his treasure when he loses his balance, tipping backwards with a startled yelp.

He squeezes his eyes shut and braces for pain, hugging the book to his chest protectively. Seconds pass like hours but he doesn't hit the ground, doesn't even feel like he's falling anymore.

He opens his eyes again slowly, squinting in confusion at the ceiling straight ahead of him. His heartbeat jackhammers in his chest as he peers down at his own body, curled up and glowing blue and, oh yeah, _floating._

The blue doesn't seem to connect him to any ghosts this time, either, so it must be apart of the whole _floating_ thing.

He gazes around the room, bizarrely sideways from his position in the air. Because he's _floating._

He's might be a bit stuck on that. _Floating._

It's weird and new and, yeah, kind of scary, but there's something really fantastic about it, too. He feels weightless, hovering just a few scant feet above the ground.

The anxious curl of his body unfolds as he relaxes, grinning goofily as he lays spread-eagle in the air instead. He waves cheerfully at a couple of spirits giving him interested looks.

"When'd you learn how to do that? You weren't flying last time I visited," one of the men, Adam, asks. He spends most of his time watching over his sister, but he comes by once a month or so to say 'hi'.

"I'm not _flying,_ I'm _floating,"_ Klaus corrects cheerfully as goes to take a closer look at the book he nearly brained himself for.

He can't help but cackle in delight when he reads the cover.

 _German for Dummies_ indeed.

A loud banging startles him and nearly sends him careening into the ground when he turns too quickly to look. He flails wildy as he flips backwards, unable to stop himself spinning until he eventually manages to reach a hand out and steady himself.

As soon as he manages to make contact with the floor he crashes down, gravity returning with a vengeance as he lands in a tangle of limbs.

Pogo pushes a ladder through the door awkwardly, entering the room just in time to find Klaus laughing hysterically on the ground.

"I apologize for the wait," he begins hesitantly, staring down at the boy's shaking form, "One of the wheels on the ladder is broken, and I had some difficulty manoeuvring it. Are you quite alright?"

Klaus' giggles finally subside, and he grins up at the chimpanzee as he gets his breathing back under control, "I'm good. Great. Awesome, even."

His eyes land on the ladder. "Oh, thanks. I got it, though," he shows him the book, still grinning. Pogo stares blankly at it for a moment.

"I see," he says finally, turning back to the ladder. "I suppose I'll just... return this."

Klaus finally pulls himself up from the floor and dusts himself off, "No way. You brought it all the way here, so I'll take it back."

Pogo protests feebly, "You don't need to—"

"I got it, Pogo," Klaus interrupts, rolling his eyes. "Where'd you find this thing, anyway?" Klaus didn't even know they had a ladder, and he couldn't imagine needing it for anything other than getting books off of high shelves.

"It was in the parlour, as it has always been," he says, and Klaus has absolutely never seen this thing in his life, but okay. "Do be careful," the doctor stresses.

He looks rather relieved at being able to hand it off, and Klaus can see why. Going down or up the stairs with a wobbly, wheeled ladder is no one's definition of fun.

Klaus sets his book down near the door frame and waves Pogo off absently. "Sure, sure."

Getting it out of the room isn't too difficult, but trying to traverse the halls and not break any priceless artifacts in the process really tries his patience. If he were Luther he wouldn't even need to wheel it around, he could just fold it up and carry it.

The broken wheel really messes the whole thing up. He turns right, it tries to turn left, and he ends up crashing into the wall. A particularly hard collision sends a vase flying, and it nearly shatters before he reaches for it in panic and stops it a scant few inches from the ground.

He doesn't touch it, but it shines blue just like his hands. He snatches it up just before the glow disappears, staring at it intently.

"Well then. We're learning all sorts of things today, aren't we?" He asks it, before putting it back on the end table it fell from. "Don't cause any more trouble, you hear?"

"Are you actually talking to a vase right now?"

Klaus screams, bumping into the table and nearly knocking the vase over again. He grabs it before it can fall and clutches it to his chest as he whirls around to face an amused looking Allison.

"Christ on a cracker! Where did you come from?" He hisses once he no longer feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. The ghost of a little boy giggles to the right of him, and Klaus can't help but join.

Allison looks at him oddly. "I came to see what all the noise was. You're making a racket, knocking into everything," she explains, eyeing the ladder with trepidition. "What are you doing with that, anyway?"

Klaus shrugs. "Needed it to grab a book. I'm just putting it back now." He sets the vase back back down, giving it an absent pat as he smiles apologetically at his sister, "Sorry about the noise."

"Right," she says, the little uptick of her lips revealing that she's less annoyed and more entertained by the whole thing. "Try to keep it down, okay? Dad won't appreciate the distraction."

Klaus winces at that. "Too true, sister. I'll be quiet, promise." He mimes zipping his mouth shut and sends her a thumbs up, beaming.

Allison rolls her eyes, already turning to walk back the way she came. "You do that, Klaus," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves. Ah, sibling bonding time. How fun.

He goes back to moving the ladder as carefully as possible, the occasional little screech of the broken wheel the only interruption of silence. By the time he makes it to the parlor he's feeling pretty proud of himself for managing to not break anything. He also, maybe, has a new-found hatred for ladders.

He rushes back into the library excitedly, plucking the book from it's spot on the ground and wasting no time in flipping through the pages as he walks back to his room.

Ellie bounds up to him immediately, phasing through his arm so she can get a good look at it. "So this is gonna teach you how to talk like Helena?" She asks excitedly, peering at the words in interest. "Wow!"

He hums in agreement, trying to absorb as much information as possible. It starts with the basic greetings and farewells, and he says them out loud and asks Margaret if the pronunciation sounds right.

"I can't really say, dear. Helena's the only person I've heard speak German," she answers, looking apologetic.

This... is going to be harder than expected.

His mother comes back while he stumbles his way through 'guten tag'.

She stares at him in confusion as he repeats it, before cackling wildly in laughter. Klaus can feel his cheeks redden in embarrassment as Ellie starts giggling with her.

"Was it that bad?" He whines, looking to Margaret for support. She shrugs sympathetically and fails to hide her grin.

"No, not bad! It was good, Liebling," Helena is quick to assure. "The sound is..." She trails off, struggling with how to say what she wants in a way he'll understand. "The sound should be _Guten Tag,"_ she stresses the vowels more than Klaus, her accent lilting around the words beautifully.

 _"Guten Tag,"_ he repeats, trying to mimic her.

She claps her hands excitedly, "Much better, Klaus!"

They spend the hours until dinner practicing, Klaus stumbling over unfamiliar words and phrases while Helena corrects his pronunciation and the others encourage him.

"Supper in ten minutes," Grace sing-songs after knocking on his door, heels clacking softly as she continues walking down the hall.

"Thanks!" He calls after her, putting the book down with some reluctance and turning to give Helena an apologetic smile. "Sorry, mom. I'll be back in a little while."

She nods in understanding, her face falling momentarily before she smiles back at him, eyes twinkling. "See you soon."

Klaus scarfs down his food in a hurry, impatient even though he knows he won't be able to leave until everyone else is done as well.

"Number Four," Reginald scolds when he nearly chokes on the chicken, "Mind your manners."

Klaus swallows roughly around the meat, gulping down his water to help. "Right. Sorry, dad."

He continues, slower now but still restive. The clock ticks slowly and he eyes it restlessly, absently tapping along to the beat of a ghosts quiet, off-key singing. It's a good song, something he wishes he could listen to without the dead screaming in the background.

He's already finished his dinner but everyone else is barely halfway done, so rests his head on his hand and tries to make out the lyrics while he waits.

"I think we're alone now," the woman croons, voice soft and hard to distinguish. "There doesn't seem to be anyone around..."

Vanya jolts, suddenly looking around wildly. "Did you hear that?" She asks, eyes wide and frightened.

"Hear what, Number Seven?" Their father demands, frowning in irritation.

She flushes, shrinking back. "I— It sounded like someone was singing, father."

Klaus feels like screaming. So far today he's learned that he can float, he can make objects float, and now he can make ghosts heard but not seen? And sometimes things glow blue and sometimes they don't? What the _fuck._

Reginald glowers at Vanya like she's a particularly bothersome bug. Klaus can feel his hackles rise at the familiarity of it.

"She's right," he interjects before their father can start on another tirade. "There's a woman singing in the corner. I don't know how you can hear her if you can't see her, though."

His father turns away from Vanya to peer at him instead, expression intent. "Selective perception?"

"Uh, I guess? I didn't mean to," he murmers, shrinking under the assessing gaze.

"I see," his father mutters under his breath uncharacteristically, looking pensive. "It will be added to the training schedule, then." _Great._

They finish dinner in silence. As much silence as Klaus is capable of experiencing, anyway, which isn't much.

The creepy guy is back, loitering around the table and occasionally sticking his incorporeal hands into Klaus just to watch him squirm. He laughs breathily right against his ear when he flinches, intangible but cold.

Klaus can barely wait to get out of his seat when Reginald finally excuses them, nearly tripping over himself in the process. His father stops his escape with a hand on his back.

"Number Four," he starts, nose wrinkled scornfully as he looks down at his son. "Do take a bath before bed. You're a mess."

Klaus stills, glancing over briefly towards the grinning ghost hovering just to his right. "A— bath?"

"Yes, Number Four. Your lack of personal hygiene is unbecoming and will not be tolerated," he chides, grip momentarily tighter before he lets go completely.

Klaus nods dumbly, nausea settling like a stone in his stomach. "Yes, father."

He makes his way to the bathroom quickly, resolutely ignoring the obnoxious ghost that dogs his heels.

He's determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. Done filling the tub with water, he sets his jaw and finally strips, getting into the water as soon as he can. The ghost just laughs, blatantly leering at him as he scrubs his skin raw with soap.

"Don't be like that, Klaus," he croons mockingly, reaching out as if to play with his hair before his finger phase through.

Klaus shudders and pulls away, gritting his teeth as he sinks deeper in the water. "Stop it. Please, just... go away," he practically begs, tone pleading.

The man's eyes darken. "Say my name," he demands, no longer smiling. "Say my name, and I'll leave."

"What?" Klaus mumbles, confused.

"Jason. I want to hear you say it, baby. And then I'll leave," The man purrs, leaning over the edge of the tub to crowd him back.

Klaus peers up at him, unsure. It's a weird request, and giving in feels like giving up, but right now there's nothing he wants more than to finish his bath in peace. "Promise?"

"Swear on my grave, baby boy. It's a nice one, with flowers and everything."

Klaus doesn't trust him, can't imagine anyone wanting to leave him flowers. But he's shivering and cold, even in the still-hot water, and having the man look at him like that makes him feel dirtier than he did when he got in.

He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to look at him any longer. "Jason," he finally says, voice hollow. He opens his eyes again to catch the man grinning down at him, triumphant, before he disappears.

Klaus lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and lets himself sink under the water, suddenly exhausted.

He stares at the ceiling, blurry and undulating with every sudden movement, and thinks about breathing in instead of getting out.

He sits back up abruptly, shaking his head like a wet dog and grabbing for the shampoo to wash his hair.

He finishes up slowly, drying himself off and slipping into his nightwear before returning to his room.

Klaus mutters goodnight to the ghosts as he finally manages to reach his bed. He pulls the covers over his head and closes his eyes, tired and weary but knowing that no sleep will come. Clutching his pillow and and breathing slowly, he tries anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank every single person who left a kudos and a comment! You're support means the world to me, and I am so, so, so sorry that I never get around to answering you. You're words fill me with glee and I never know how to convey that, but I appreciate everything you say! Like coal in a furnace, you power me. Is that a weird metaphor? Who cares, it fits. I love you guys! 
> 
>  
> 
> pogo, repeatedly running into walls with that stupid ladder: well at least i'll be helping klaus
> 
> klaus, holding up the book pogo got the ladder for: wassup monkey man
> 
> pogo:


	4. the pharyngeal jaws of moray eels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy seeing the dead. It's not easy being dead. They deal with it the best they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i sucker punch you and then try to kiss it better

Klaus' mind won't shut up, and he spends four hours wide awake before giving up completely on sleep.

The dead are especially raucous, their wailing and moaning setting his nerves on edge as they beg for help he can't give. The others try to intervene, but he knows it won't work tonight.

Kyle left yesterday morning to visit the last of his squadron and won't be back until morning. Klaus misses him with a passion, misses the steady sound of his voice as he talks over the screams like they aren't even there.

Ellie's scared of these spirits too, whimpering in fright as they howl and leaving to find a quieter place. Klaus can't blame her. He wishes he could do the same, even though he knows that they'll just follow him wherever he goes.

Margaret and Helena sing softly, two completely different songs that sound beautiful together regardless but that he can barely hear over the yowling and shrieking.

He tries and fails to make his mother corporeal, wanting nothing more than to be held in her arms, but he can't focus and every time she tries to touch him she slips through. Each attempt is glacial and intangible and hurts worse than the ones before it, so they give up, helpless and resigned.

The new moon hangs dark in the sky, the stars blocked by light pollution giving little illumination to his dingy room. He grapples for the lamp on his nightstand so he won't trip over anything when he gets up.

He slips out of his bed quietly, goosebumps rising across his pale skin as soon the air hits it. He misses the warmth of his blanket immediately.

His room is perpetually cold, a side-affect of all the phantom visitors that hang around. It's worth it when he can see his friends and his mom, but sometimes the nice outweighs the not-so-nice and he has to deal with the screaming as well as the need to bundle up or risk freezing to death in the middle of the night. His teeth feel like they're going to chatter their way out of his skull with how hard he's shivering.

He pulls socks on before leaving, both to keep his feet warm and to quiet his footsteps on the hardwood floor when he sneaks out.

"Klaus? Where are you going? It's late." Margaret frets, looking worried. Helena nods in agreement behind her, watching him with sad, confused eyes. Klaus avoids looking at either of them, ashamed at his own reaction to the ability he's had all his life.

He should be used to this by now.

"I'm just gonna get some food," he reassures them, waving away their concern with a casualness he doesn't actually feel but wishes he did. "Stay here. I'll be back in a bit."

He opens the door and winces when it squeaks, ignoring the somber way they continue to regard him. He pauses briefly to give them what he hopes is a comforting smile before continuing, carefully closing the door with a soft click.

Tiptoeing his way to the kitchen, he tries to stay out of sight of the cameras he knows about (which he's sure there are more of, because Sir Reginald Hargreeves is nothing if not a paranoid bastard) and carefully avoids the creaky floorboards with practiced ease as he goes down the stairs.

Eating won't help him sleep or even make him feel much better, but sometimes the monotonous action of making a sandwich calms his nerves enough that he doesn't feel like his spirit is going vibrate out of his body and join the dead.

He grabs two slices of bread, pulls out the jar of peanut butter and the bag of marshmallows from the cupboard, digs up a clean butter knife, and breathes.

His fingers shake as he spreads the peanut butter on the bread, and he drops a couple of marshmallows when he adds them, but he's fine, and if he cuts the sandwich in half and and then stares at it blanky for a full twelve minutes without doing anything else, well, he's just not hungry right now, okay?

A man yells in agony in front of him, an open wound on his chest spurting blood that vanishes just before it can land on his sandwich. Klaus pushes it away and lays his head on the table.

"You gonna eat that?"

The voice is familiar, and Klaus looks back up blearily to find Karma sitting cross-legged on the counter, grinning down at him and gesturing toward the sandwich. He doesn't answer.

"You look like you need it, kid. You're all skin and bones," she pushes on, unbothered by his lack of response. "Did you go through all the trouble of making it just to let it get stale?"

"I'm not hungry," he finally grumbles back, annoyed. The bloody man has stopped screaming and has taken to crying his name over and over again. Klaus covers his ears, fruitlessly trying to block out the spirit's hysterical wailing.

"I guess all the blood and gore would make me lose my appetite too. Well, if I was capable of even having an appetite. Being dead is fucking _weird,"_ she rambles, visibly avoiding looking at the the other ghost. "I mean, no one can see me, or touch me, or hear me! I spent two days straight screaming at my murderer and he didn't even blink."

Klaus lowers his hands from his ears and looks away, feeling guilty. He'd known she wouldn't be able to make contact and he'd let her leave anyway.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles quietly, staring down at the still-untouched sandwich. "I should have told you about that."

Her eyes soften at his words, and she gives him a sympathetic smile. "It's not your fault. You didn't kill me, and you didn't ask for me haunt you, either."

She hops down from her spot on the counter gracefully and makes a point to stare him in the eyes, "You've got nothing to be sorry for, kid."

The guilt eases slightly, and he sends her a shy smile back. Ignoring the bleeding, wailing caricature of a human being right in front of him, he finally grabs his sandwich and nibbles at it.

The bread's a little stale and he added too much peanut butter, but he finishes it in three bites anyway. Marshmallows still stick to the roof of his mouth once he's done, but it's worth it to see Karma not look so sad. 

Done with his food, Klaus takes the dirty plate and knife over to the sink. "So, what happened with the guy that killed you?" He asks as he washes the dishes, curious despite himself. He knows this isn't the kind of question that comes up in polite conversation, but tact has never been his strong suit. "Did he get caught, or...?"

Karma huffs out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, he got caught. Dumb motherfucker left me in an alleyway and then went back inside the club he picked me up from, they got the whole thing on camera," she smirks vindictively, looking smug. "I even got to watch the cops chase his ass down the street and tackle him while he cried. It was great."

Her gaze is a million miles away and her hands open and close around nothing, tightening as if she's imagining wrapping them around someone's throat. Klaus watches her, knowing.

"But killing him would have been better," he surmises out loud, not unkindly.

The smirk drops from her face, her unblinking eyes finally focusing as she turns to look at him. "Yeah," she admits quietly, "Killing him would have been better."

They fall into silence as he finishes cleaning up, nothing but the horrifying sounds of the dead to break the quiet. This continiues until he slinks his way out of the kitchen and heads back to his room.

"So, the other day. You know how you're friend Kyle helped me when I was having trouble teleporting?" Karma asks suddenly, surprising Klaus and nearly causing him to trip. He catches himself before he can fall but still steps on a squeaky floorboard.

Wincing at the soft creak it gives under his weight, he turns to look at her. "Technically you were only having problems because of me," he points out as he slowly continues to edge up the stairs.

"That's not the point. He was very helpful and nice," she says as she walks beside him, completely silent even on the creakiest steps. Klaus is kinda jealous, keeping light on his toes and still making noise. "So, is he by any chance single and also interested in women?"

Klaus misses a step, falling hard on his hands and knees with a hiss of pain. He stills, listening for the sound of someone coming to check out the noise. He doesn't hear anything, so he lets out a breath and picks himself back up. Karma laughs and goes to help, but her fingers phase through his arm and she stops, face going blank.

"I dunno. About Kyle, I mean. He's never brought it up and I've never thought to ask," Klaus answers her earlier question quickly, trying to distract her from her failed attempt to connect. "But he could be."

"Yeah. Could be," she replies, giving him a weak smile. She still looks at her hands like she can't quite recognize them, but she seems a little less devastated about it, so he'll call it a win.

Klaus makes it back to his room relatively trouble-free, Karma continuing to follow behind sedately as she occasionally ridicules the over-the-top decor.

"I get that you're, like, super rich or whatever, but that vase is just ugly." She points towards the bulbous, gold-embelleshed vase he nearly knocked over yesterday, sitting unassuming on it's little end table.

It _is_ pretty ugly, but Klaus feels an odd sympathy towards it, so he doesn't agree out loud.

"Ladies first," he says cheerfully when they finally reach his door, opening it with a flourish and gesturing for Karma to walk through.

She gives him a silly little curtsy, unable to actually raise the skirt of her short dress and instead miming the action with a playful grin. "Why thank you, my good sir!" She laughs, following along.

Klaus steps in after her, shivering at the chilly temperature and giving a little wave to Margaret and Helena. "Hey, guys. Sorry I took so long, I ran into Karma," he greets, motioning to her as she stands awkwardly in front of him. "You remember her, right?"

Margaret nods, smiling warmly. "Of course, you told us about her the other day. It's very nice to meet you, young lady. I'm Margaret," she intoduces herself, all grandmotherly and welcoming.

His mom beams beams at her as well, words lilting gently with her accent, "Hello, my name is Helena. It is nice to meet you."

"Hey, even more ghosts! Great to see you," she goes to foward as if to shake their hands, but stops and turns to Klaus, expression uncertain. "Can I actually touch them, or...?"

"Uh, no. You're as intangible to each other as you are to just about everything else," he explains with a grimace, hating the answer. He knows how difficult it can be for spirits to be invisible and incorpreal to the living, but being able to see other ghosts while not being able to touch them is nearly as upsetting to a lot of them.

Karma sighs, standing back and lowering the hand she was about to offer Margaret. "Well, can't you just make it to where we can? With the whole blue thing you had going on the other day?" She gestures in a weird way that he thinks might be an attempt to mime his powers, but ends up looking more like she's an alien trying to make jazz hands for the first time.

Klaus huffs at the question, tugging off his socks and letting himself fall backwards onto his bed, arms outstretched. His exhaustion hits him all at once, eyes drooping before he forces them open again, squinting up at the celing as he answers.

"Unfortunately, no. My powers are a fickle beast." He pauses before continuing, trying to better clarify, "Like a cat that can never make it's up mind about whether or not it likes you, so sometimes it lets you pet it and other times it bites you when you try."

The explanation doesn't make much sense, but Karma nods in understanding anyway. "That's a bummer, kid."

He hums in agreement, weary and spent. "I'm gonna try and get some sleep. You can hang around if you want," he tells her, wiggling around until he manages to get under his blanket instead of just laying on top of it.

"Oh, that's probably a good idea. It's pretty late." She settles herself cross-legged on the floor, looking out through his window to watch the way the shadows dance under the bare light of the moon and stars. "Goodnight, Klaus."

"G'night, Karma, Margaret. Gute Nacht, Mom," he yawns around the words, listening blearily as the others reply in turn. He finally lets his eyes close, and the blackness drags him under immediately.

Klaus doesn't sleep much, but he does sleep. Nightmares have him waking up trembling, teeth behind his tongue and mouth bloody from trying not to make too much noise.

Each time he swallows the blood and turns over, squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the howls of the dead until he's drawn back into the abyss that devours him whole and then regurgitates him out into another horrifying dream.

Except, they're not always just dreams.

He bleeds to death in a car crash, chest full of shrapnel and hanging upside down as he screams for help that will never come. Hours seem to pass like that before he finally loses consciousness, and then—

He struggles in open-water until he can't anymore, kicks his useless legs until his limbs stop working and he sinks under. He tries to hold his breath and fails, feels his lungs flood as his tears join the body of water, and then—

The gun in his hand is a heavy, unfamiliar weight, but he doesn't focus on that. He checks the chamber for bullets, taking out all but one. He clicks off the safety. His grip is steady and sure as he lifts it to his temple, resolute. He pulls the trigger, and then—

A man, tall and attractive, leads him into an alleway with honeyed words and a grip on his arm that's just a little too tight. He begs for his life as he's strangled, eyes pouring and fingernails scratching uselessly at the man's hands when he tightens his grip with a manic grin, and then—

Klaus shoots up in bed, breath coming out in stuttered gasps as his hands clutch his throat even though he knows there's nothing there.

His alarm clock blares on his bedside table, drawing his attention. He grapples for it clumsily, accidentally pushing it off in the process.

A familiar flash of blue envelops it before it can reach the ground.

Instead of immediately grabbing it out of the air like he did before, he lets it float for a moment so he can get a good look at it. It seems to hover precariously, bobbing slightly instead of staying completely still.

He snatches it up when the blaring gets to be too much and turns it off, putting it back on the table.

His head aches something fierce and sunlight hurts, but he forces himself out of bed so he can finally spit out the blood in his mouth.

He waves to the various dead in greeting on his way to the bathroom, relieved to rinse out the taste of iron from his tongue. Eating is gonna be a pain for awhile, but he didn't do too much damage so it'll be fine.

He spots Kyle smiling at him in the mirror and turns around with a grin he doesn't quite feel. "Hey, welcome back! How was your trip?"

"It was good," Kyle says, smile slipping when spots the blood around his lips. "The nightmares again?" He guesses correctly, brows furrowed in worry.

Klaus shrugs, not in the mood talk about it. "Yeah," he answers simply, and tries to think of a way change the topic. "Karma's back."

It's not subtle by any means, and Kyle gives him an unimpressed look at the deflection. He runs his hands through his buzz-cut hair in exasperation. "Yeah?" He asks, going along with it. "How's she doing?"

"Eh. She's less murderous and more sad than she was at the beginning, but I don't know if that can be considered a good thing." Klaus takes a seat on the edge of the tub and tries not to think about last night, about drowning or Jason or anything at all, really. He grins at Kyle instead, leaning in and lowering his voice as if to tell a secret, "She asked if you were single."

"She— what?" He asks, dark skin flushing in embarrassment. He doesn't look entirely convinced. "Really?"

Klaus nods vigorously, beaming like the sun. "Yep! She said you were really helpful and nice, too. She likes you!"

"Oh," he replies, completely ineloquent. "Wow."

Klaus laughs, getting up from his make-shift chair and heading back to his room. His legs are a little shaky, but he already feels better. Kyle scrambles to follow, looking a little confused. "She really likes me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she really likes you." Klaus agrees, watching Kyle with a soft expression. He looks surprised about the idea of someone finding him attractive, which Klaus thinks is ridiculous. He's gorgeous.

So is Karma. They're gonna be perfect together, and Klaus decides right in that moment that he's going to make it happen. Resolution made, he steps out of the bathroom and nearly runs face-first into Vanya.

"Sorry, Van!" He apologizes, quick to right her when she nearly loses her balance, grinning sheepishly at her, "I totally wasn't paying attention to where I was going. You okay?"

"Yeah, you just startled me a little," she assures, smiling awkwardly back at him. "I'm just gonna—" she gestures towards the bathroom.

"Oh, right!" Klaus gets out of the way of the door, giving her a little wave goodbye as they part ways, hurrying to catch up back up with Kyle.

The spirit waits patiently by his door, politely motioning for him to go first. Klaus mimes a curtsy, giggling to himself at the unintentional repeat of last night.

All the ghosts in his room look up when they enter, various looks of guilt and concern on their faces. Klaus feels bad for worrying them, but seeing how much they care about him makes his heart soar.

Helena seems relieved but nervous, lightly fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "Are you okay?" she asks immediately, apprehension coloring her features as she studies him.

 _Okay_ is probably a strong word to use, but he no longer feels like he's dying in slow motion, so he'll run with it.

"Yep! All better, or whatever." He grins at her as he goes to sit on his bed, ignoring her doubtful look and gesturing to Kyle. "Hey, Kyle's back! You remember Kyle, right?" He asks Karma, changing the subject from the boring matter of his questionable well-being to something more interesting.

She side-eyes him knowingly, unimpressed. "Yeah, I remember Kyle." She smiles at the man in question, giving him a nod. "It's nice to see you again," she tells him sincerely.

He blushes almost imperceptably, clearing his throat and smoothing down the front his shirt as he's wont to do when nervous. He smiles back at her, "It's nice to see you too."

Klaus watches the exchange with a grin, ready to jump in with a teasing remark about their terrible flirting before a gentle knock brings his attention to Grace standing in his doorway.

"Breakfast in ten minutes," she informs him cheerfully, her ever-present smile gleaming white as he thanks her and she moves on to the next room to do the same for Ben.

Klaus gets dressed for the day quickly, gesturing for everyone to turn away. He hisses in pain when he takes off his pajama pants and realizes his knees are scraped and bruised from last night's fall on the stairs.

"That's gonna be noticeable, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is playing matchmaker. Those poor, poor ghosts. 
> 
> I wanted to get this posted yesterday, but I played horseshoes and got drunk instead. Whoops? Anyway, I woke up at three in the morning and finished it to atone for my sins. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. karmic retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comeuppance is such a nice word, don't you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter:
> 
> Sexual assault in the form of non-consensual touching, groping, and kissing. Please be safe!

"Wha-what happened?" Diego asks when they run into each other in the hall, powering through his stutter to get the words out.

"Huh?" Klaus replies, confused. He hadn't even noticed the other boy until he nearly crashed into him.

Diego rolls his eyes, irritated. "You're kn-knees, ge-ge-genius," he grits out, scowling. 

Klaus peers down. His socks don't go high enough to cover up the purpling bruises, and they _are_ pretty noticeable. "Oh. That." He pokes at them and winces at the twinge of pain, before shrugging and giving his brother a grin. "I fell."

Diego looks at him like he's a total idiot, which is fair enough, and then flicks him on the forehead, which isn't fair at all. "You're such a klutz," he says, stutter-free.

Klaus rubs his forehead, a playful pout replacing his previous grin. "You're so rude, Di-Di! I'm going through a growth spurt, you know. It takes a while for my limbs to catch up with my brain."

It's not a lie, per se; he's been getting progressively more spindly and coltish these last few months. There's probably more bruises than just the ones on his knees, scattered and faded across his body.

"What brain?" Diego scoffs good-naturedly right before they reach the dining room, effectively cutting off Klaus' chance at a comeback. He sticks his tongue out at him instead, and they split off to get to their seats.

Grace serves breakfast once everyone is seated; pancakes, eggs, and bacon are arranged into entirely too-cheerful smiley faces on their plates. Klaus eats quickly but barely tastes it, lost in thought.

Karma invited herself along and cajoled Kyle to join them, so now she's lounging on the table and and making funny comments. Kyle had explained to her the 'no talking' rule after she got confused when Klaus hadn't answered her.

"Big family, huh?" She says absently, lightly poking her foot into Five and watching in interest as he shivers. "Must be nice to have siblings. I'm an only child, you know?"

Klaus nods minutely, giving her a little smile to let her know he's listening. She beams back at him and kicks through Kyle with a laugh as she adresses the other ghost, "What about you?"

"Just an older brother, Sam. He was a good man." The tone gets a little somber after that, and he kicks back at her playfully to break the tension.

Eventually it becomes a weird game of footsie where they can't even touch each other, and they keep phasing through everyone around them until Klaus has to stuff his face to avoid giggling out loud at their antics. If anyone gets too cold they don't say it, but more than a couple of his siblings give him annoyed looks at the sudden chill.

Morning classes consist of world history and enough math to make Klaus cross-eyed just looking at the equations, and then they run laps until he physically can't anymore, leaning on his knees and trying not to retch. He's building up stamina, at least.

Lessons learned and physical exercises done (with only a little bit of spleen pain!) means that the actual _training_ is about to start. Less running endless laps and more lifting two tons of weights, flinging incredibly sharp knives around the room, bending reality to your will, teleporting in and out of dangerous situations, and unleashing the Lovecraftian horror that lives in your stomach.

Oh, and trying to summon ghosts. Fun!

Not.

Klaus has most of the friendly spirits flood the room, hoping to make at least one of them corporeal so he can get a gold star and then go back to knitting his half-finished blanket. It's incredibly soft, a brilliant mixing of three shades of blue, and never going to be completed because his powers. _won't. fucking. work._

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on Kyle, the third test subject of the day. Neither Karma nor Margaret had become tangible when he tried, Ellie refuses to be around his father after last time, and Helena has her highschool English class to attend, which means he's running out of his preferred dead buddies and might need to turn to the ones he doesn't know as well if be can't get this right.

Blue electricity sparks around his fingertips as he concentrates, the glowing power hesitantly moving towards Kyle's figure as he coaxes it along. It's almost there—

"Boo!"

Klaus yelps in surprise, the blue on his hands fizzling out immediately. He whips around angrily to give the offending ghost a scathing glare. "What the hell?"

Jason grins back at him, completely unperturbed and looking just as triumphant as he had when Klaus finally said his name. The man raises his hands in mock surrender, openly laughing at Klaus' outrage. "Don't be like that, baby. You're way too cute when you glare."

Klaus huffs and turns away, face reddening in both anger and embarrassment as he firmly decides to ignore the bothersome spirit. Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, he goes back to focusing his ability on Kyle. Or, at least, he tries to.

Just when he can feel the power sparking again, a shock of cold seems to freeze his insides. "Would you stop that?" He hisses, slapping uselessly at the intangible hand sticking through his stomach.

"Number Four! Stop this foolish behavior and focus," his father scolds, arms crossed in impatience. His siblings look irritated as well, forced to watch and wait while he tries to get a handle on his ability.

"I'm trying!" Klaus definitely does-not-whine, stepping away from Jason and turning back to Kyle, who's jaw seems to clench as he scowls.

Karma does the same from beside him, brows furrowed. "Who's this asshole?" She asks, nose scrunched up like she smells something bad.

Klaus huffs in annoyance, "No one! Nothing! Let's get back to matter at hand and finish this, okay?" He clenches his eyes shut and tries to pull on the power again, but Allison's patience seems to have run thin.

"I heard a rumor," she calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth like she's telling him a secret from ten feet away.

_**"I heard a rumor that you finally summoned a stupid ghost!"** _

The words seem to echo off of nothing, his eyes falling open just in time to see the way his hands quickly become shrouded in an electric blue mist.

Jason doesn't waste any time, quickly phasing through Kyle to take his place in front of Klaus. The blue latches onto him immediately, Allison's rumor spurring it on until it completely envelopes him.

There's a second in the aftermath when Klaus finally comes back to himself and thinks 'wow, it's pretty cool that Allison can do that' but the moment passes and he has more pressing matters to focus on than admiring his sister's ability.

Like, let's say, getting the fuck away from the corporeal ghost of a pedophile that's lunging for him.

He dodges to the left and trips over his own feet, nearly falling before Jason grabs his arm and spins him around so that he can hold him from behind. The ghost pins his arms to his body with practiced ease, unbothered by his frantic struggling.

"I've been waiting for this," he purrs, breath hot on Klaus' neck as he presses an almost-chaste kiss right under his ear.

Klaus kicks uselessly at the man's legs, panic rising in his throat as the the kiss turns into a sharp bite. There's the sound of someone scrambling behind them, followed by his father's voice, "Do not help Number Four, children. He must learn to control his own ability and protect himself."

"Buh-but-" Diego stutters, sounding worried.

"No buts! Move back, Number Two."

Klaus manages to twist around until he can see his family, and hurt burns in his throat like he's swallowed fire when they just _stand_ there. His father watches on, interested but unworried, eyes merciless. His sibling either refuse to look or stare on in pity, Diego in particular looking upset.

A hand pushes under his shirt, freezing fingers ghosting across his stomach, and in a moment of absolute panic Klaus throws his back to slam into his attacker's face. He hears a hiss of pain and the grip on his arms turn bruising before the weight against his back completely disappears, leaving him to fall to his knees without anything keeping him up.

For a moment he thinks his power has worn off, but a glance at his hands show them shining just as brilliantly as they had before, with the added bonus of another two threads leading outward. He spins around to find them attached to Kyle and Karma, who've wrenched Jason off of him and are now forcing him face-down onto the floor.

Kyle pulls the other ghost's arms behind him with a foot planted on his back, keeping him pinned to the ground while Karma stands back. Jason tries to buck the other man off of him, sneering angrily and yelling curses, before he's silenced by Karma stomping his head into the ground with the sharp heel of her stiletto.

Blinding white-blue light explodes out of him on impact, everyone in the room forced to cover their eyes at the sudden brightness.

As the luminescence dies down so does the glow around Klaus' hands, Karma and Kyle reverting back to incorporeality. Jason, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

"Holy shit, guys. I think you just curb stomped him straight to hell," Klaus blurts out, gaping at the equally stunned pair

Karma huffs out a derisive laugh, still staring down at the spot where the man had been moments before. "Serves him right," she scoffs.

Kyle clears his throat nervously as he moves towards Klaus, who's still sat in the spot where he fell. "Are you okay?" The soldier asks softly, hovering close enought to be comforting but not overwhelming.

"I am fucking fantastic," Klaus deadpans, completely serious. The image of Kyle holding Jason down while Karma kicks his head in is probably going to be his new happy place. _"That_ was fucking fantastic."

He leans back until he's laying on the floor and waves away his siblings' concern as they loiter just out of reach. He's giddy and weary all at once, relieved to be free of the despicable man but finding the victory hollow. No one but Kyle and Karma tried to help him at all. They're _ghosts._ What if they hadn't been able to do anything?

"Both of you were totally awesome, don't get me wrong, but I especially enjoyed the use of his head as a stepping stone. I mean, where did that even come from?" He grins up at his saviours as they look at him in fond exasperation.

"Well, it might be that I'm filled with unbridled rage at my own brutal murder which I decided to direct towards the first douchebag I could touch," Karma offers pleasantly, looking rather satisfied.

Klaus laughs out loud, heady and borderline-hysterical with an adrenaline crash. "That'll do it," he agrees.

"Number Four," His father interrupts, glowering down at him with a look of distaste. "If you're going to talk to the dead, either bring them into the material plane or be discreet."

"Sure thing, daddy-o," Klaus agrees, pulling himself into a sitting position and poking at the sore bite mark on his neck, feeling a little nauseous. "Hey, do think ghosts can carry rabies?"

Reginald gazes at him in silence, face blank. A full minute passes before he speaks, completely ignoring the question, "You may have a ten minute break to clean yourself up. I recommend you leave promptly to be back in time for target practice." He turns away to usher his other children towards the designated marksmanship area. 

"Yeah, totally. I'd hate to miss that," Klaus mutters to his father's retreating back, standing up on shaky legs and and making his way unsteadily to his room.

"That was a pretty good first date, right?" He comments to Kyle and Karma once he's sure no one else will hear him. 

"First date?" Kyle repeats, looking confused when Klaus beams back at him, a tad bit manic. "What do you mean?"

"I think he's trying to say that that was a date? And somehow it was good? No offense, kid, but I don't think any of that could count as a date." Karma says, patting at the air above his head as if to soften the blow.

"That totally counted as a date!" Klaus argues, waving his hands around to illustrate his point. "You had breakfast, watched a race, and beat up a pedophile together! If you ask me, that makes for an amazing first date."

"We couldn't actually eat, I don't think you and your siblings running laps counts as a race, and you were attacked. If that was a date, it was a bad one." Kyle seems to realize he just agreed that it was a date and blushes, causing Karma to laugh.

"Then you need to have a better second date!" Klaus exclaims gleefully. "Like, right now, because I'm gonna go take a bath and then get destroyed by Diego at target practice."

"We can't want to leave you alone—" Kyle starts, Karma already nodding in agreement. Klaus huffs in fond exasperation at their thoughtfulness and waves them away.

"You're _not,"_ he interrupts before Kyle can continue. He appreciates the thought, but the man is such a worrywart sometimes.

He pulls of his socks and shoes before continuing, "I have my brothers and sisters and Ellie and Margaret, and Mom will be home any minute. You guys had an unbelievably disastrous first date and need to go make up for that," He cocludes, grinning triumphantly when they give each other hesitant looks. "Okay?"

Kyle seems to search for something on his face before sighing, "Okay. But you better call for us if you need to." Karma nods along, face serious. "Scream bloody murder and we'll come running. Or, uh, teleporting" she amends.

He drops off them off in his room to debate locations (Klaus hears them mention a museum and immediately tunes them out, interest lost) while he grabs a change of clothes, heading for the bathroom with intent to wash off the day's activities.

Passing in front of a mirror, he stops in his tracks to look at himself and can't help but grimace. Face flushed and sweaty from exertion and fear, with his hair sticking to his forhead and an ugly bruise purpling on his throat, he looks like a complete mess. No wonder Karma and Kyle were worried.

He savors the bath for the first time in weeks, happy at being able to bathe in (relative) peace. When he washes his body he scrubs extra hard at every place Jason managed to touch while replaying the memory of the man's head getting bashed in. His skin turns an angry red at the rough treatment, but he feels a little bit less like he's going to fall apart at a moment's notice.

Finished but not wanting to get out just yet, he let's himself sink under the water until his lungs ache. He thinks about the fear he felt when Jason grabbed him, how Diego tried to go to him and his other siblings looked worried, but daddy dearest said 'no, don't help him' and they listened.

He understands why they did nothing the same way he understood why they thought he was crazy, because they're father told them so and they can't break away from that. It still hurts, but he dulls the pain with justifications and tells himself it doesn't matter, anyway, because he's _fine._

He finally emerges when the lack of oxygen makes his head feel like it's going to explode, and tries to focus on getting his breathing under control instead of the way tears sting at his eyes.

He dries himself off and dresses quickly in hopes it will make up for the time he wasted in the bath, but he still gets back to the training room five minutes later then he's supposed to.

His father is visibly displeased by his tardiness but doesn't say anything, and Klaus joins the rest of his siblings in getting thoroughly thrashed by Diego in marksmanship.

When it's his turn he notches an arrow and tries to imagine a time in which they'll need to fight with a bow. Maybe they'll be sucked into the distant past, or maybe archery is a useless skill to have. He misses the mark by several inches and hopes it's not the first one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been about *checks my watchless wrist* THREE FUCKING WEEKS? Haha, oops? I hope this chapter made up for the wait :-)
> 
>  
> 
> klaus, dealing with trauma through humor: haha can ghosts carry rabies?
> 
> reggie: *actually thinks about it and immeduately regrets every decision that has lead to this moment in his life*


	6. you're a flashlight in a dark room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things Klaus gets: a better grip on his powers, some candles, a (minor) concussion, and a hug.
> 
> Things Klaus doesn't get: the answer as to whether or not ghosts can be charged for murder, a ouija board, and a break.

Klaus finishes the blanket he's been making just after lunch. The yarn he used is thick and soft, perfect for keeping him warm in the face of ghosts and the freezing cold they bring when they visit. It's also very pretty, which is always a plus.

Ellie 'ooh's and 'ah's when he shows her, with Margaret beaming in pride behind her. Helena searches for words in English and settles on "Magnificent!" For a moment, the warmth in his chest feels stronger than a thousand suns going supernova.

The pride he feels dims when Grace knocks on his door, signalling another round of personal training. His father has decided that he hasn't been developing his ability fast enough with the regular lessons, which means he has an extra two hours on top of that until he reaches a level that is satisfactory.

It is, to put it bluntly, exhausting.

He's hold up in a room with only Reginald Hargreeves to keep him company, though Vanya occasionally makes an appearance to dutifully time how long he can keep a ghost tangible. He feels like that would be a boring job, but she seems to like it well enough.

Klaus takes even breaths, clenching his hands into fists and and then loosening them as he focuses his attention on Margaret, who has kindly agreed to be his newest test subject.

"You're doing great, honey!" She encourages cheerfully.

He appreciates the support, even though it's a blatant lie. Neither of them are blue or glowing, and his father is getting impatient once again.

"Maybe you should try some candles," Karma suggests, startling him as she pops out nowhere right behind him. Kyle follows her into the room but walks through the door instead of teleporting in, because he's a gentleman."You know, like in the movies," she continues. 

Klaus scowls at her once his heartbeat is back under control, unable to speak to her unless he brings her to the material plane lest he get another hour added to his sentence for the week. He hopes the glare he sends her way will stop her from giving off the usual commentary.

Kyle snickers behind her as she raises her hands in surrender. "It was just an idea," she says defensively, grinning despite the way she tries to act repentive.

"It could work," Kyle agrees, the traitor. He's gotten a lot more cheeky since he started seeing her. A lot less solemn, too, which Klaus is glad for. Still, cheeky.

"Maybe you should give it a try," Margaret says, because it's apparently gang up on Klaus day. "It couldn't hurt to ask, hmm?" He pouts at her, absolutely betrayed.

He has no idea how candles are suppose to help him conjure spirits, but it's not like he has anything better to do. Plus, it might get his dad off his back. Or piss him off even more. A bit of a coin toss, really.

Klaus huffs in exasperation. Okay, so he's doing this, but what's he suposed to say? 'Hey dad, the ghostly apparitions that have haunted me since birth would like you to buy me some candles because it might help me to summon them into a physical plane of existence?'

Actually, that's pretty good. He's totally going to say that.

"Candles," Reginald repeats icily once Klaus repeats the words. He doesn't sound convinced.

"The dead believe that holding a ceremony with candles will help to strengthen my connection to the spirit world," he bullshits, aiming for a serious tone that probably ends up sounding bland and resigned instead. He tried, okay?

"And perhaps you'd also like a ouiji board?" His father asks. Klaus would love a ouiji board, but he gets the sense that his father is being sarcastic.

"Just the candles, I think," he replies sweetly, holding back a grin as his father's eyebrow twitches. If the old codger doesn't want to be mocked he should try being less mockable.

Reginald eyes him sternly, undoubtably looking for a lie. Klaus schools his features into earnestness and hopes for the best. "Very well," he finally says, eyes narrowed in distrust, "And have the dead anything else to say about it?"

"Lemon scented!" Margaret calls out quickly, much to everyone else's confusion. "It helps with concentration," she explains helpfully, "Or so I've heard. It also smells nice."

"Lemon scented," Klaus tells his father, who seems to ooze contempt. "Please," he adds politely. Better to not test his luck anymore, with how murderous his dad looks. 

Reginald agrees with much disdain, stepping aside to let Pogo know to order a set of lemon-scented candles. Karma seems rather proud of herself afterwards, striding up to him so she can start on a cheerful rant about how he should try conjuring her because of her 'awesome suggestion.'

Klaus refuses solely because he knows she'll try to attack his father. She means well, but he can't have her killing his dad, so it's a solid no.

"He has it coming," she insists grumpily, arms crossed and pouty as she lets Margaret take her place in front of him. "Especially after—"

"Murder is illegal," Klaus interrupts with a quiet hiss, careful to keep his voice low so his father won't hear what he's saying. It's a regurgitated conversation he'd rather not have again. 

Karma, being incorporeal and therefore incapable of being heard by any living being but him, has no need to keep her volume down. "I'm a fucking _ghost,"_ she points out easily, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. "What are they gonna do, cuff my corpse?"

Klaus imagines that for a second, a couple of cops digging up her body and arresting it, reading it Miranda rights and then dragging it to an interrogation room to try and get it to talk. It's as ridiculous as it is morbid.

She has a point, but he's not going to admit that.

"Whatever," He mumbles under his breath instead, turning to face a rather amused-looking Margaret and letting his power sparks along his fingers. Karma sticks her tongue out but doesn't say anything more, careful not to disrupt his focus.

The blue attaches to Margaret after a couple of minutes, rushing forward and submerging her like a thick mist. Reginald leans forward in interest, silently watching as she seems to appear out of thin air.

"Mr. Hargreeves," she greets politely, smiling coolly in his direction. Klaus can practically feel the frigidness she gives off, even as she attempts to be pleasant. "The candles are much appreciated."

The light around her seems to flicker and she quickly fades out of tangibility before Reginald can reply. He has no qualms with showing his displeasure. "Again," he demands, tone brooking no argument.

The dead stream in and out of corporeality as Klaus concentrates, electric blue twining around his fingers as he flexes them. At first he's careful to pull up the familiar, friendly ghosts that he knows well, but eventually he stops focusing on any single one and let's them come of their own will, though they rarely stick around for longer than a minute.

Most of them are agreeable, striking up a conversation and following any directions they're given to test his power, while others are angry and confused, howling in agony or attempting to attack Klaus. His father watches intently regardless, taking notes and giving orders.

An middle-aged man screams curses that he cringes at while a dead comedian tries to tell him jokes that he can't help but laugh at, all the while a young girl begs for her life while he can't do anything about it. It's a tidal wave of new and old ghosts, all begging for his attention. 

Klaus is exhausted an hour in, sweating and shaky as a nice young man tries to lift a weight as his father instructs him. It falls through the man's hand and hits the floor with a loud thump, just as Klaus passes out.

He wakes up in the infirmary with a pounding headache and a dozen or so ghosts peering down at him. The sudden light is blinding and he groans, turning on his side and squeezing his eyes shut to keep down the sudden nausea. Something tugs on his arm as he moves, and he has to squint down at his arms to see the IVs stuck in his veins.

"Careful, young man!" Grace croons sweetly as she emerges through the crowds of spirits. Her hands are gentle as she resituates him, fluffing the pillow under his head and helping him sit up.

"What happened?" He asks, surprising himself with how weak his voice sounds. "Why am I in the infirmary?"

"You had a little accident, dear. You fainted from physical exertion and hit your head, so you have a minor concussion. You're on a drip so that I can ensure you get enough fluids, though now that you're awake I think you can do that yourself," she explains, smiling cheerfully as she disconnects him and bandages the wound.

"Oh," is all he says, still somewhat confused. He only got about half of what she said. "How long—"

"It's been about an hour since you passed out, but you've been waking up on and off since then," Kyle answers before Klaus can finish asking his question, "I take it you don't remember that?"

"No. Just the training and the, uh, fainting." And how embarrassing is that? He's never gonna hear the end of this from his siblings. If they'll even talk to him, anyway.

Kyle nods, unsurprised, and shoos the other ghosts away, giving him a smile before leaving with Karma, Margaret, and Ellie so that he can have some privacy. Once the rest of the spirits are out of the way Helena rushes forward with a worried expression, muttering comforting words in lilting German.

"Klaus!" She all but shouts, reaching out to grab him and phasing through instead. She pulls back in frustration, looking desperate.

Klaus breathes slowly, focusing on the soft thrum in his veins that he's learned is his power. Blue fizzles like electricity around his hands, and he urges her to try again. She does, slow and cautious. Her fingers gently graze his face, testing the water, before she pulls him into a hug, sobbing against his shoulder. Klaus returns the embrace enthusiastically, laughing a little in relief. It's been weeks since he could actually touch his mother. Being in her arms feels like coming home after staying away for far too long.

"Klaus, dear, that might not be a good idea," Grace says softly, "You've already overextended yourself quite a bit today."

He doesn't want to admit she's right, doesn't want to let go of Helena, but he's dizzy and tired, practically trembling in his mom's arms. "I'm fine," he insists anyway, clutching tighter.

Helena makes the choice for him, gently pulling away to hold his face in her hands. "It's okay, Schatz. I'll still be here for you," she murmers, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. As much as it hurts, he lets her go.

Klaus pulls his power back into himself, the thrum of almost-electricity settling under his skin as the blue fades from his mother's body. His muscles ache like he's run a marathon and it feels like his head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, but it was definitely worth it to hug her again.

Grace smiles sweetly as she gives him a final checkup, cheerfully asserting that he's free to go, but to be careful to not overexert himself again. "You kids," she giggles, helping him back up when his legs fold as he takes a step, "Always so stubborn."

Klaus gets his feet back under him with her help and decides to wait for the dizzyness to pass before trying again. He hesitates before leaving, loitering in the doorframe for a moment before turning on his heel to give her a hug. "Thanks, Grace."

She beams down at him, cherry red lips stretched wide around perfect white teeth. "You're welcome, dear," she replies lovingly.

All of his siblings have wondered whether or not she can truly feel emotions or if everything she does is just a facsimile created to placate them, but Klaus can't look into her eyes and see anything but genuine warmth and affection. He hopes he's right.

"Grace is your... stepmother?" Helena asks hesitantly once the woman in question is out of earshot. Klaus is surprised at the question before remembering that he's yet to explain Grace to his mom.

"Uh, not really? She's a robot dad made to take care of us," he explains awkwardly. This is almost always a bad conversation to have with ghosts. Or anyone at all, really, but he doesn't talk to many people who aren't dead.

"... Robot," she repeat slowly, expression blank. And then in German as if to make sure, _"Roboter?"_

_"Roboter,"_ he agrees, somewhat sheepish. He'd never even realized it was weird until he started explaining it to Kyle and Margaret, but apparently a robot made by your father to act as a mother isn't a normal thing.

Helena eyes him uncertainly, looking for a joke, but all he does is shrug. "Ah," she says finally, "I see." She doesn't really see, but he appreciates the effort.

He missed dinner after the whole 'fainting from exertion' thing, so the kitchen is their next stop. He walks through house slowly, occasionally stopping to ride out a wave of dizzyness. The lights are way too bright.

He passes Allison on the way, who goes wide-eyed and pale as soon as she sees him, fleeing immediately in the opposite direction. She nearly knocks into Diego on the way, who looks about ready to yell at her before he spots Klaus himself and decides to ignore his ire at their sister in favor of following her in running away.

Klaus' mood immediately plummets at the reminder of his siblings strange behavior. All of them but Vanya have been looking at him like he's killed their favorite puppy, resurrected it, and then killed it again. Vanya herself doesn't seem to notice, but she keeps to herself and remains polite if distant.

Sure, his powered siblings tended to avoid him before his powers came to light, but he thought they were warming up to him after they started training together. Apparently not, because now everytime they see him they seem to become magicians. He walks into a room, they disappear, ta-da!

The whole thing almost definitely has to do with the _Incident,_ which pisses him off more than words can describe.

Once Klaus finally reaches his destination he makes a sandwich with more fervor than strictly necessary, distractedly scratching at the healing bruise on his throat before forcing himself to stop so that he won't make himself bleed again.

He knows the wound won't heal if he keeps messing with it, but the bite mark Jason left itches in a way he that makes his skin crawl and he can't help but pick at it even though he knows he shouldn't.

He hates it. Hates the way he can feel it even when it doesn't hurt, a constant throb that pulses in time with his heartbeat. Hates the way it looks, a purple-blue stain on his skin that draws the eye and won't hide under his shirts. More than anything he hates the guilt it brings to his siblings faces every time they see it.

He wants to scream at then to stop, just _stop._ It's not their fault and it wouldn't matter even if it was, because he's fine. It's an ugly, stinging bruise, and it will go away eventually. It brings up an ugly, stinging memory, but that will go away eventually. The last thing he needs is their ugly, stinging pity, and he wants it to go away immediately.

Klaus tears into his sandwitch with nearly humorous ferocity, mad at himself being mad. Today was supposed to be good! He finished his blanket! He made progress with his power! He hugged his mom!

Today was supposed to be _good._

He throws away the rest of his sandwich in a huff, appetite ruined. Helena watches him in worry, undoubtedly confused about his sudden bad mood.

"Klaus? Are you okay?" She asks, concern etched into her features.

Anger dissipates into guilt at the thought of upsetting her. It took a lot a threats (that were ignored) and even more crying (that was, unfortunately, not ignored) to get Karma and Kyle to promise not to tell her the truth about where he got the bruise. He's definitely not going to tell her anytime soon.

"Just kinda tired, I guess." He gives her a reassuring smile that she returns, if a bit unsurely, before grabbing his plate and washing it in comfortable silence. Or what would be silence for anyone but him, considering that there's a ghost wailing in the corner of the room.

Fuck, she's loud.

"Poor girl," Helena says quietly, watching the spirit with sad eyes, "Maybe you could try talking to her?" It's a much nicer thing to do than what Klaus was planning, namely pretending she doesn't exist and going back to his room for a nap.

The girl looks a bit older than him, probably in her teens. There are multiple bleeding stab wounds in her stomach and she won't stop crying, heavy sobs that seem to rack her whole frame. She's the kind of ghost Klaus would usually try to ignore, the kind that seems like a lost cause, but he thinks of Karma and remembers the way he managed to pull her out that endless cycle of dying. It's worth a try, he figures. His day is already ruined, anyway.

"Hey," he calls over. She doesn't seem to register him at all, so he moves to stand right in front over her and waves his hands in her face. "Hey. Ghost girl."

"Sei nicht frech," Helena scolds, slapping his hands away. He wasn't trying to be rude, but he tends towards bad manners when in a bad mood, so he apologizes as politely as he can. The girl doesn't seem to notice either way.

Klaus debates making her corporeal. He knows he shouldn't overextend himself again, but it's not like one little ghost is gonna kill him, right?

Right.

He focuses on her, taking in all that he can. She's taller than him but shorter than his mother. Her hair is long and golden blonde, perfectly styled. Casually dressed in tank top and blue jeans, she'd look like a normal teenage girl if not for all the blood and gaping wounds. His power thrums under his skin as he coaxes it out, blue mist twirling around his fingers as he focuses.

There's a sudden whoosh of wind and the air pressure in the room seems to shift. His ears feel stuffy and uncomfortable, sound momentarily muffled before he hears a soft pop and the sound of glass shattering.

Klaus flinches at the noise, turning his attention away from the girl momentarily. She wastes no time once she's tangible, surging forward with surprising speed and clutching at his arms tightly. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot red when he looks into them, desperation palpable in her gaze. "Klaus," she gasps out, voice hoarse from crying.

It takes him a moment to realize what the shattering sound was: the only light in the room comes from the blue glow of Klaus' hands as it envelopes both the girl and the broken glass of the light bulb hanging in the air above his head.

"Please," she whispers, her grip on his arms loosening from bruising to nearly gentle, "Help me."

 


	7. it was death, but i stood up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus needs to stop making friends with the ghosts' of murdered girls. (But he won't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! Your comments have me squealing in joy, honest.

  
The glass finally falls after a precarious moment suspended in the air, cluttering loudly but harmlessly onto the kitchen floor. The girl lets go of him now, crying once again as she tries to explain.

"I was on my way home from the movies and he— he came out of nowhere, I didn't see him until he grabbed me," she dissolves into sobs, clutching at her bloody midsection. "They said you could see me, and you can. Please, you have to help me!"

Klaus swallows heavily, guilt a heavy weight in his stomach. "I can't bring you back," he says firstly, aware that some spirits come to him and expect things that he's simply incapable of. Necromancy, unfortunately, is not in his skill set.

"I know," she whispers hoarsely, grief heavy in her voice. "I'm dead and I'm staying that way," she laughs, high-pitched and manic, before the giggles disrupt into sniffles and she holds her head in her hands and trembles.

"What's your name?" He asks, tone soft and non-threatening in the same way Kyle uses to talk to him through nightmares. The other ghost would be so much better at this than him.

The girl lifts her head slowly, blue eyes bloodshot and teary as she rubs at them. "It's Tiffany. Tiffany Martin."

"It's nice to meet you, Tiffany. Obviously you already know my name." He sends her a grin, hopes that it will keep her from falling apart. It's a ridiculous hope but a hope all the same, and everyone needs some hope. He gestures towards his mother, "And this is my mom, Helena."

She grins back at him shyly, momentarily calmed, and nods in greeting towards Helena. "It's nice to meet you both," she replies, voice quiet but sincere.

"So, what can we do for you, Tiffany?" He asks, about to move to sit at the table before remembering that there's shards of broken glass on the floor and he's barefoot. "I'll clean this up while you talk, okay?"

"Huh?" She blinks down at the floor, looking surprised, and then flushes. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize—" she leans down and scoops up a handful of lightbulb, then turns back to him. "I guess this is my fault. Uh, where's the trash?"

"It's not your fault," Klaus assures her, pointing towards the garbage can in the corner and gingerly picking up more of the mess. "I appreciate the help, though."

They clean up the broken glass quietly, using the glow of his hands and Tiffany's body to illuminate the dark kitchen like nightlights. The shine tints everything blue and soft, almost like a dream.

They finish quickly, because lightbulbs aren't very big, but Tiffany still hasn't spoken. She opens her mouth and hesitates, closes it and looks away, before turning back to him and starting the process all over again, a record stuck on repeat. Klaus doesn't rush her, just waits patiently and watches their shadows dance across the walls.

"I don't— I can't—" she tries to speak and trips over her own tongue, shaking with the need to say something but unable to spit it out. She clutches at the table and tries not to cry again, frustrated.

"Why don't we go to my room?" Klaus asks after it becomes obvious that this isn't working, "It'll give us some privacy." He can feel a headache building behind his eyes from the strain of keeping her corporeal but he's afraid she'll get stuck in another loop if he lets go, so he holds tight to the little string in his mind and waits for her to answer.

She nods, quick and short and just a little desperate. "Yeah," she breathes. "Yeah, okay."

Sneaking to his room isn't difficult. It's eight at night, so it's not like most of his siblings are wandering around, and his father rarely leaves his study outside of training and meal times. Helena peeks through walls to keep watch of Pogo while the chimpanzee makes his rounds and notifies him of Grace doing laundry so that he can avoid them.

Tiffany floats behind him listlessly, no longer crying but worryingly silent. Her fingers skim against the walls as they walk, oddly focused on the decor of self-defense instructions hung up around the hallways. She watches at him out of the corner of her eye and looks sad, but says nothing.

A crowd of ghosts greet him at the door of his bedroom, undoubtably aware of his building power and the new girl he's using it on.

The dead are such gossips sometimes.

He makes a shooing motion with his hands and they part to let him in, knowing full well that he's not afraid to walk through them if he has to. Margaret, Ellie, Karma, and Kyle are waiting for them, loitering awkwardly around his bed.

"Hey guys," Klaus calls out cheerfully, giving them a little wave. Ellie is the only one who returns it. The rest of them stand with their arms crossed and give him unimpressed looks, weirdly in sync.

Klaus ignores their freaky little show with practiced ease and urges a wide-eyed Tiffany forward to intoduce her. "Tiffany, this is Ellie, Margaret, Kyle, and Karma," he points to each of them as he goes, "Guys, this is Tiffany. Say hi and save the lecture for later, okay?"

"We're not trying to lecture you," Kyle says, lecture-ly. "You know you shouldn't be using your powers right now."

"See, that sounds like a lecture. Which isn't necessary, because I'm being careful! I'm taking it slow, being gentle— sorry, bad phrasing," Tiffany giggles into her palm and waves away his worried glance, so he continues, "The point is, I'm fine. And you still haven't said hi, which is just rude," he concludes.

"Hello, Tiffany. It's nice to meet you," Margaret greets first, and the others follow her lead in exchanging polite niceties with the new ghost, who looks marginally less freaked out by the end of it.

"Look, I know you've been getting a better grip on your ability and you want to practice with it, but you need to take some time to recharge first. You passed out barely two hours ago, and you still have a concussion," Kyle points out gently.

Klaus rolls his eyes. "First of all, it's only a minor concussion—"

Kyle cuts him off immediately. "A minor concussion is still a concussion—!"

" _Second of all_ ," Klaus interrupts with a glare, "I'm not just doing this for practice. Tiffany— she was like Karma, that first time. I had to pull her out." The explanation seems to calm the other's disapproval, and Kyle sighs before nodding in understanding.

Arguement postponed, Klaus turns to find Tiffany isn't even paying attention to the conversation anymore. She's moved back towards the door and for a moment he worries they've upset her and she's trying to leave, but she stays by the frame with a pensive expression on her face. Her fingers gently skim along the wall, tracing words written in sharpie:

_'It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light.'_

"Did you write that?" She asks quietly, not taking her eyes off of the words.

"Yeah," he says, somewhat confused at her interest. "It's a quote. From Sherlock Holmes." The Hound of the Baskervilles, to be exact. He and Margaret finished the book just last week.

He had found the words Holmes spoke to Watson to be an odd mixture of condescending and admiring, almost like one of Five's backhanded compliments. For some reason they had struck a chord in him, and he hadn't been able to get them off his mind until he'd written them out. The walls had always seemed too bare to him, anyway, so it was a good fit.

"I used to write on my walls too," Tiffany says after a moment of silence. She pulls her gaze away from the words and smiles at him. "Poetry, mostly."

"What kind of poetry?" Klaus asks. He watches her move around again, nervous energy manifesting in a compulsive urge to look around his room.

"Just stuff I like. Maya Angelou, William Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde. A lot of Emily Dickinson. There's this one poem she wrote—" she stops. Her fists clench unconciously and she swallows roughly around a lump in her throat, but she continues, "I thought of it after I died."

"How does it go?" He asks, even though he probably shouldn't. The wound is fresh and the question is a handful of salt. Tiffany flinches momentarily, eye staring off at something no one else can see. She clears her throat softly before beginning.

"It was not Death, for I stood up,  
And all the Dead, lie down—  
It was not Night, for all the Bells  
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh  
I felt Siroccos—crawl—  
Nor Fire—for just my Marble feet  
Could keep a Chancel, cool—

And yet, it tasted, like them all,  
The Figures I have seen  
Set orderly, for Burial,  
Reminded me, of mine—

As if my life were shaven,  
And fitted to a frame,  
And could not breathe without a key,  
And ’twas like Midnight, some –

When everything that ticked—has stopped—  
And Space stares—all around—  
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns,  
Repeal the Beating Ground—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—  
Without a Chance, or Spar—  
Or even a Report of Land—  
To justify—Despair."

Klaus blinks. "Wow," he comments, ineloquent in the face of such eloquence. "That's... a lot to remember."

"I have a good memory." A weight seems to have a lifted from her shoulders, and she laughs quietly. "It's ironic," she adds, "That that was the poem that came to mind. It's about not dying but feeling like you are. I died but it doesn't feel like it."

"That'a normal," Klaus assures her. Or maybe 'assure' isn't the right word. There's nothing assuring about the confusion of becoming dead, even if it's a common thing.

She doesn't answer, just stares at her hands and flexes them like she's trying to make sure they're really there. She clenches them one more time and turns to look at him, resolute. "I was murdered. One second he was stabbing me, over and over, and the next thing I knew I was standing over my own dead body as he put my clothes back on. I watched him bury me. I know I'm dead. I _know._ But I still feel alive."

"I'm sorry." There's nothing else he can say to that.

She shakes her head like a dog after a bath. "It doesn't matter," she lies. "After all that happened, I realized that no one would find my body. He drove out into a forest to bury it— bury _me._ My parents don't even know I'm dead." She swipes at her eyes, at the tears stubbornly forming despite her best efforts not to cry again. "I know this has nothing to with you and it's a lot to ask, but you're the only one who can help me. I need you to tell someone. Call the cops, or something. Let them know where my body is. Please, Klaus."

"Okay." There's nothing else he can say to that, either. 

The thing about living with a man who's genius and wealth is only surpassed by his paranoia and control issues is that you really can't do anything without him being, at least tangentially, aware of it. It's exacerbated 100% when there are another six tiny little people roaming around at any given time, ready to feed you to the big bad wolf if they catch you doing something you shouldn't be.

Okay, so calling his dad the big bad wolf and saying his siblings would tattle on him for a slice of cheese isn't necessarily the truth all the time. Most of the time it's pretty damn spot on, though, so using the house phone to call the cops isn't an option.

There isn't much debate about how to go about it. Sure, most of the ghosts worry about his safety and try to find a better way, but there's really only one choice.

There's a payphone about a block away from the house. Klaus digs up some quarters and waits until he's sure everyone is asleep to change out of his still-sweaty workout clothes and into something more appropriate for the whole sneaking-out-of-the-house-so-he-can-report-a-murder thing. All he actually owns is the academy uniform, a couple of pairs of pajamas, and the aforementioned workout clothes, so it's not exactly a lot to choose from, but he makes it work.

Tiffany, no longer corporeal but taking it pretty well, waits patiently on his bed. She looks over at the wall and the words there occasionally, expression pensive.  
  
"You can write something if you want," Klaus tells her after the fourth time he notices her staring. "I have a couple of markers on my nightstand."

"Are you sure?" She asks, hands twitching in obvious want. Klaus appreciates her courtesy, but it isn't necessary.

"Yeah, knock yourself out," he encourages, making her tangible and dropping a marker in her lap in a single motion. "I've been meaning to add more, so you'd be doing me a favor. I hate this wallpaper." He leaves her to do her thing and searches for a pair of socks.

"Under the bed, _Liebling,"_ Helena says, and he crawls under in search of his other shoe. He should probably clean his room soon, because finding things has not been easy lately.

He gets out from under his bed to see that Tiffany is already done writing, and she gives him back the marker with a nervous expression. "Is it okay?" She asks quietly, fiddling with her blond hair as they look at the words:

_'It was death, but I stood up.'_

"It's perfect," he tells her immediately, and he means it. He grins at her and she smiles back, proud of her work.

Fully dressed and buzzing with nervous energy, Klaus claps his hands to get everyone's attention. He's met with exasperated looks that he pointedly ignores. "Okay! Operation: Find-Tiffany's-Body is a go! Let's do this, people!"

"We're not actually going to call it that, right?" Tiffany asks, looking genuinely worried.

"What? It's a great name! Why don't you like it?" Klaus replies defensively.

"Well, first of all, it's kind of a mouthful—" she starts.

Klaus cuts in quickly, "This whole situation is kind of a mouthful—!"

" _Second of all_ ," she interrupts loudly, "It's bad. Like, it's just a bad name."

"She's right," Kyle agrees. Karma and Helena give similar responses and Klaus pouts at all of them, betrayed.

"Fine. What do you want to call it then, huh?" He challenges, arms crossed in contention. "It's not easy coming up with a names, you know."

"I'm thinking Operation: Pushing Daisies," Tiffany states cheerfully. "Get it? Because we're looking for my grave?"

Damn. That's actually pretty good. "Eh. It's okay," Klaus says, casually dusting off nonexistent dirt from his shoulder.

It fools no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved how Klaus' walls were covered in writing and drawings, and then I got to thinking "how'd that start?" So this is my take on it. 
> 
> The poem quoted is "It was not Death, for I stood up" by Emily Dickinson.


	8. a dim costellation, small consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls, ghosts, and donuts, oh my!

They slip out of the window like thiefs in the night. Or, at least, Klaus does. He has to shimmy down a lead pipe and try not die in the process. Ghosts can float and shit, so the others do that. Lucky bastards.

Tiffany and Ellie watch after them from the window. Ellie doesn't like leaving the house at night so she's staying, but Tiffany just looks confused. "Okay," she says. "I know I said I understood, but I lied. What the are we doing?"

"We need to sneak out of the house to get to a payphone so we can call the cops and tell them where to find your body," he whisper-shouts back, motioning for her to follow.

"Yeah, see, I get that part," she huffs, pulling herself out of the window and hesitating as she looks down. "What I don't get is why we have to use a payphone, or why we need to sneak out in the first place. Do you not have a house phone?"

Klaus shrugs. "I mean, yeah, but that's kind of not an option. If my dad found out, yours wouldn't be the only grave we'd need to search for," he adds, if a bit dramatically.

Really, the only difference between getting caught using the house phone and getting caught sneaking out is that, this way, his dad won't know what he's up to.

Klaus can just lie and say he went for donuts, rather than very obviously having called the police to report a murder to help a ghost. Sir Reginald would have a field day with that, no doubt. Probably say a bunch of bullshit about living up to his potential and being one step closer to stopping the end of the world and blah, blah, blah.Then he'd train him into the ground again because Klaus went and raised his expectations. Ugh.

Tiffany lets them leave it at that, and Klaus watches her clamber down nervously. Her foot slips when she's about halfway down and shet lets and squeak of shock. She falls through him when he tries to catch her, hitting the ground without a sound. Klaus can only down in horror.

"It's cool, I'm dead," she reassures him, and he spends a moment feeling incredibly stupid for forgetting that she can't get hurt. She laughs at his face and slaps uselessly at the foot sticking through her head. "Get out of my face, dude."

He does, face flushed. "Sorry, sorry." There's a moment where he debates using his powers to help her up but she's back on her feet before he can blink.

"Let's do this thing." She brushes her hair out of her face and confidently walks down the street, head high.

"Uh, you're going the wrong way," Klaus calls after her. "We need to go down Maple Street." She turns on her heel and walkes back nonchalantly, heading the right way this time. Klaus follows her and hopes she can't hear his quiet giggles.

The trek to the payphone is, thankfully, uneventful. They walk down the street quietly, a boy and his gaggle of ghosts. Other spirits loitering in the road watch them and occasionally wave in greeting. Or scream incomprehensibly.

Tiffany stops them momentarily to excitedly point out the Ursa Major constellation.

Klaus knows, logically, that she's only fifteen. Just a couple years older than him, really. There's a difference between knowing and seeing, though, and right now he can see the youth in her eyes as she talks about stars and mythology and how much she likes bears, of all animals. She looks lighter than he's ever seen her, which shouldn't come as a surprise because he's known her for all of six hours and that's practically nothing, but it feels like forever. She's a teenage girl, and she's dead, and Klaus needs to get her justice.

He digs the quarters out of his pocket and pops two into the payphone before freezing. "Wait. What do I say?" He gives everyone a panicked, wide-eyed look.

Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe— did we really not plan this out?" He asks rhetorically. "Who am I kidding, of course we didn't. We're idiots."

"Speak for yourself, babe," Karma says confidently. "I totally have this planned put. Klaus, call 9-1-1. Tell them you're reporting the murder of Tiffany Martin. Tell them where it happened and at what time. Describe the attacker and his car. Tell them which forest he buried the body in, and request a search party. Tiffany can fill in the details as you talk." She gives the other girl an encouraging smile.

Klaus isn't surprised Karma decided to outline the whole thing. She's understandably invested in getting killers caught. He dials the number with trembling fingers and gives a queasy-looking Tiffany a rallying thumbs-up as the man on the other side answers.

_"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"_

The static, bland voice almost startles Klaus enough to drop the phone, but he manages to catch himself and puts it up to his ear quickly. "I'm calling to report the murder of Tiffany Martin."

The girl in question fidgets next to him, hesitantly filling in the detail as he goes.

"He, um, he was blond. I think. It was pretty dark," she relays. "And he had blue eyes. Probably in his thirties? And pretty tall. Like, six feet."

"It was a little after ten. I was just getting of the movie theater with my friends and walking back home when I passed by an alley and he— he grabbed me."

"The car was blue. I, uh, I don't really know much about cars, but it looked new?"

"He buried me in Glendon forest. I think he drove about ten minutes in, and it was kind of close to a river. There was a lot of trees? I mean, obviously there were a lot of trees. It's a forest."

Klaus speaks quickly and barely breathes. It doesn't take longer than three minutes to repeat everything, and when he's done and the man asks for his name he finally hangs up.

He sinks to the ground with Tiffany, a heavy weight off their shoulders. She's crying again, but it's not sadness or frustration or grief this time. She's not quite happy, but she's relieved. She seems a little lost, too.

"Tell me a poem," he requests once she's stopped trembling. She looks at him questioningly, eyes watery and red. "Any poem. The first one you think of."

She's silent for a moment, face pensive, before she settles on one. Her legs splay out in front of her and phase through his own, but he doesn't move away. It's like a cold wind blowing through his very being, making him feel unreal and hollow like a mirage. It's comforting.

"When the summer fields are mown,   
When the birds are fledged and flown,   
And the dry leaves strew the path;   
With the falling of the snow,   
With the cawing of the crow,   
Once again the fields we mow   
And gather in the aftermath. 

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers   
Is this harvesting of ours;   
Not the upland clover bloom;   
But the rowen mixed with weeds,   
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,   
Where the poppy drops its seeds   
In the silence and the gloom."

"It's good," he says, tears stinging at his eyes. Tiffany smiles at him and hums in agreement. "What's it called?"

"Aftermath," she answers.

"Fitting," Klaus thinks but doesn't say. He hugs Tiffany instead, grip so tight he'd be worried about hurting her if she didn't squeeze back even tighter. The dark street lights up blue as he pulls everyone else into it, clutching at Tiffany's hand and Kyle's arm while he presses his face into his mother's hair.

It's an undoubtedly odd sight, a half a dozen or so glowing figures huddled together in the middle of the night by a payphone. It doesn't last long.

Blue mist fizzles as his vision blurs worryingly, the headache that he'd been able to ignore before pounding against his skull now. The streetlights and their previously dull illumination turn blinding, and Klaus squeezes his shut.

Many of the meandering spirits from before seem eager to latch onto this weakness, screeching thunderously and falling through him in an attempt to attack. All he can do is curl into himself, knees pulled up to his chest and hands covering his ears.

"Deep breaths," Helena urges quietly, planting herself in front of Klaus. She glares at the screaming spirits to little affect but Klaus feels better anyway, just knowing she's there and she's trying.

He tries to listen. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Again and again until his heart no longer feels like it's trying to beat it's way out of his chest, until his breaths don't come in panicked pants and the ache in his head goes from pounding to almost tolerable. The wails quiet gradually, going from near-deafening to something that he can tune out like the buzzing of a fly.

"Better?" Helena asks softly. She's still hovering in front of Klaus, close enough to provide comfort but not overwhelm. The others stand behind her, worried and silent.

Klaus sucks in another deep breath and stops covering his ears, nodding quickly. "Better."

"I think I bled on you," Tiffany says suddenly, eyes wide. She stares down at him in something like wonder, and when he looks down he can see a spots of blood on his chest, right where her wounds had been when he hugged her.

"Huh," he mumbles. "That's... new." The words are more resigned than surprised. Klaus is getting really tired of all the nooks and crannies he's finding within his powers, even when he's not exploring.

"Sorry," she replies immediately, looking embarrassed. Her eyes skirt away from his and drift towards the angry spirits still wailing in the background, before finally landing on the payphone. "I keep making messes, huh?"

"No, you don't," Klaus argues immediately. "I know it's a shitty situation—"

"Language," at least six people chime in. Klaus even didn't bring six people with him, so it's startling to say the least.

"I know it's a bad situation," he amends, "And you feel like it's your fault because you're at the center of it, but that's the thing. You're at the center of the bad situation because you're in a bad situation, not because you made the bad situation. It's not your fault, so don't apologize." He hopes he's making sense, or at least providing some comfort. Consolations aren't exactly his forte.

"Okay," she says quietly. There's still a somberness to her, like dark clouds heavy with the promise of rain, but she doesn't disagree with him. "I still feel bad about your shirt, though."

Klaus takes the icebreaker for what it is and laughs. "What, this old thing?" He pulls at the bloody and shirt and grins. "I never even liked it. Trust me, you did me a favor."

He stays there for a couple minutes longer, still curled by the phonebooth, before finally getting back up to make his way home. He has to grab one of the streetlights to keep himself upright when his legs nearly give put on him.

The others flock around him like nervous birds, their worry as obnoxious as it is endearing. He tells them so. "I'm fine, guys," he insists with an eye roll for good measure. "It was just a dizzy spell."

"A dizzy spell brought on by overexertion, lack of food and sleep, anxiety, and the concussion you got twelve hours ago," Kyle points out succinctly before sighing. "Just... take it easy, okay?"

Klaus huffs but agrees. It's not like he's planning on running all the way back, anyway. He takes his time instead, absently taking in the scenery in a way he couldn't before. It's a nice night, full of stars just bright enough to break through the light pollution and overcast weather of the city.

Tiffany points out Ursa Major again, and this time Klaus actually looks. He doesn't get how anyone can see a bear, but he keeps that to himself.

He nods along as she starts talking about Jupiter and Callisto. He knows the story from his father's lessons, but neither Kyle nor Helena have heard it so they listen attentively as she recites it with dramatic flourish.

The shining sign of a nearby shop flickers and Karma groans. "God, I miss donuts."

Klaus turns to look and sees that it is in fact a donut shop, still open despite the late hour. There's still about three dollars worth of quarters in his pocket. Donuts aren't that expensive, right? He should be able to afford at least one...

"So he turned her son into a bear and threw them both into the sky?" Kyle asks, perplexed. "How is that the best idea he could come up with?"

Helena nods in agreement. "Why did he not just make her human again?"

"Not even Gods are exempt from stupidity," Tiffany says, oddly serious. "I'd say they're especially prone to it, in fact."

"It's the hubris," Klaus adds in cheerfully. "Wanna get some donuts?"

An older man greets him when they walk through the doors. "Hey there, sonny." His eyes sweep the space behind Klaus and find nothing. "It's a bit late to be wondering around without your parents, you know."

"I live right down the street, sir," Klaus assures him politely, taking a seat at the counter. "There's no need to worry."

The man— Earl, his nametag says— can see Klaus better when he sits down in front of him. The fluorescent lights harshly accentuate the bags under the child's eyes and the bruise on his throat, not to mention the bloodstained shirt and bandaged arm. It doesn't paint a pretty picture.

Klaus doesn't realize any of this while he peruses the little menu for something tasty and affordable. "Ooh, sprinkles."

They're a dollar a piece, so Klaus can get three. Choosing which three is the hard part. The first one has strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles because that's what he wants, but Klaus agreed to save the other two to try and see if ghosts can eat so everyone is arguing about it.

"I'm the one who found the shop, and I want a raspberry jelly donut," Karma declares, slamming her hands down on the table to little affect.

"I'm partial to lemon jelly myself," Margaret adds sweetly, going for a more gentle approach.

"I haven't ate anything since 1968," Kyle says casually. "I really miss apple fritters."

"I like maple?" Tiffany hesitates under the force of everyone's glare. "Or, you know, whatever."

Klaus looks at his mother expectantly when says nothing. " _Ich bin kein Polizist_ ," she explains. Klaus has to fake a coughing fit so that the waiter won't hear him laugh, but the man still gives him an odd look.

Earl seems worried about his possible sickness so, Klaus decides to hurry this up. "I would like one with strawberry icing and sprinkles, one cinnamon twist, and one glazed, please."

 

Pandemonium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Klaus be murdered by a pack of donut-crazy ghosts? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> (Just kidding, he'll be find.)
> 
>  
> 
> (Or will he?)


	9. bruxism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donuts and other things you'd rather eat than talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! It's up to you whether that's a good thing or not, though.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of previous sexual assault.

"Three donuts coming right up," Earl the waiter says pleasantly, completely oblivious to the chaos that surrounds him.

Karma let's out a strangled sound of rage. "Glazed? _Glazed!?_ That's the worst flavor you can get!" She waves her arms around angrily as if to illustrate her point. Klaus has come to learn that she's a very animated woman. Especially when mad.

"I like glazed," Tiffany says unhelpfully. "And cinnamon twists."

"1968," Kyle stresses. "That's thirty-three years. I haven't had an apple fritter in thirty-three years, Klaus."

Margaret frowns, not angry but disappointed. "I suppose I'll never have another lemon jelly donut, then. What a shame."

Klaus rolls his eyes, Helena laughing next to him. Who knew ghosts could get so dramatic, and over donuts, of all things? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

He waits until Earl goes into the back and can't hear him anymore before answering. "I didn't have enough money for everyone's favorite, so I didn't get any of them. That's fair, right?" It's not like he was trying to be mean or anything.

"Oh, dear," Margaret sighs. "Of course it's fair. Don't take us too seriously, we were just poking a little fun," she assures him. "Weren't we?" She prods the others.

"I guess," Karma mutters, still pouting, but she turns her face to the side suspiciously. Klaus is pretty sure she's hiding a smile, especially when he sees the way her eyes gleam mischievously.

"Thirty-three years," Kyle repeats, face serious. The lights in the diner flicker momentarily, ominously darkening around them. When they come back on, Kyle is grinning. "Just kidding," he laughs as if Klaus' heart didn't just stop out of complete terror.

"Sorry about the lights," Earl the waiter calls out, "They've been actin' wacky all night." He steps out of the kitchen with three plates balanced carefully in his hands, two donuts on each of them and definitely more than what Klaus ordered. "Bon appétit!" He announces cheerfully.

"Uh, sir, I didn't order all those," Klaus points out gently, worried for Earl's mental health. Memory problems are no joke, especially not when combined with old age.

The waiter just laughs. "Don't worry, they're on the house. You look like you need it."

The words poke pointedly at Klaus' mind, something not quite right about the tone they're said in. Earl's smile is tight and his eyes keep darting around. Klaus finally gets it when they seem to focus in on the blood on his shirt; the man is worried about him, but doesn't know how to bring it up without scaring him off.

Something warm settles in his chest at the idea. Some man he doesn't know, who doesn't know him, who isn't dead and stuck haunting the only person that can see him, is still concerned for his well-being. The thought is nice. But it can't stay.

"Oh, thanks!" Klaus tries to sound cheerful. "I've been having a pretty bad day. Me and my family, uh, went to the park today," he continues, searching for a plausible story that won't get the cops called on him, "And when we were playing tag I tripped on my shoelace. I hit my head, scratched up my arm, and got a bloody nose, so I bet I look like a mess." He laughs, nervous and awkward.

Tiffany gives him a funny look. "What are you talking about?"

"He's trying to avert suspision," Margaret whispers to her knowingly. "He looks a little rough from everything that's happened, so this man is likely worried about him and his home life." _'As he should be'_ goes unsaid but not unthought.

Tiffany gets sad again, as Klaus has come to recognize from the way her face crumples and she plays with her hair. "Oh."

"Well, I'm glad I could help cheer you up," Earl says, not quite mollified but visibly more at ease. "Enjoy your donuts."

"Thanks!" Klaus repeats gratefully. "But, um, can I get a box? It's getting pretty late, so I should get back before my mom's worried."

"I'm already worried," Helena says unhelpfully.

"Sure thing," Earl agrees, reaching behind the counter to grab a little pink to-go box. He gives it to Klaus and accepts the quarters with an amused glint in his eyes, smiling as he says goodbye. "Feel free to come back anytime, okay? And bring your family!"

"Will do!" Klaus calls out cheerfully, waving at him with the hand that's not holding the donuts and hip-bumping the door open at the same time.

The bell above him gives a soft jingle as he leaves, the cool night air sending goosebumps up his arms once he steps outside to make his back way home. Again.

Klaus realizes he didn't quite think this through when he tries to climb back up to his window while holding a box of donuts. It doesn't work, because climbing tends to require at least two hands. Who knew, right?

"You can do it!" Ellie cheers, partly to encourage him but mostly because she wants a donut. Everyone else is already in his room, looking down at him in a mixture of sympathy and amusement.

He's in the process of wiggling his way up, box carefully tucked between his chin and chest, when a group of ghosts decide it must be the perfect time to bother him. Fuckers.

Listen, Klaus has had a very bad day, with a lot of pain, wailing spirits, and near-misses. All he wants to do is eat his donut and sleep for a thousand years. Like Sleeping Beauty, but gladly and on purpose. If a prince tried to kiss him awake he'd probably kick the guy's teeth in.

"Klaus!" They yell, sounding unfairly chipper. He'd turn around to glare at them if it wouldn't send both his donuts and himself to an early grave.

"Gimme a second," he grunts back, finally getting a good grip on his window sill. He levies himself up with a grimace and maneuvers the box until he can drop it into the open window. It makes a soft thump on his carpeted floor but doesn't look too worse for wear, so pulls himself the rest of the way in and flops bonelessly onto the ground next to it. "Okay, what's up?"

They follow him through the window easily, and as he squints up at them from the floor his first though is ' _wow, Tiffany has a lot of sisters._ ' This is then followed by ' _aw, all her sisters are dead_.' Finally it's ' _oh shit, those aren't her sisters_.'

The girls beam down at him, not quite identical but very, very close. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes? Check. Young and conventionally pretty? Check. Bloodstained, gory, and super dead? Check, check, check.

Looks like asshole-fucking-bastard-murderer (as he has been dubbed in Klaus' head) is actually a serial killer. Yikes.

"They found us," one gasps out, blood pouring out of her mouth as she speaks.

"They found _him,"_ another says, teeth blaringly white against the red of her cut-up lips as she grins.

"You did it," they chorus. Klaus bets that they'd make great girl group if they sang like that, all in sync and stuff. Then the words sink in and all he can really do is stare.

"Oh. Cool." He grimaces as soon as he says it. How fucking eloquent, Klaus. Totally an appropriate thing to say to all these murder victims. Great job, here's a gold star, if you try hard enough you might be able to stab yourself to death on the sharp edges! "I mean, that's good."

They don't seem to mind his social blunder, or even really notice it. They crowd around him quickly, phasing through each other as they surround him. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"Happy to help," Klaus replies a little awkwardly. "It wasn't just me, though. They helped." He nods towards the others, still grouped by his bed and looking just as gobsmacked as he feels. "You should thank them too."

They do, fluttering like butterflies to sob their gratitude towards each and every one of the other ghosts. When they're done, offering their final thanks to a bright-eyed Tiffany, they seem to glow.

"Time to go," they say, whisper-quiet like the best of secrets. It's not the electric blue of Klaus' power but a blindingly bright white, there one moment and gone the next. Their smiling face is the last thing Klaus sees before they disappear with the light and a chiming of bells.

"Wow. That was something, huh?" Karma breaks the silence, gaze still locked on the spot where the girls had been.

"Definitely," Klaus affirms. There's a soft murmer of agreement around him, all of them too stunned to say much else. Tiffany, once she's no longer frozen in place, starts crying.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she cries. "I just— I can't believe it. We did that. _I_ _did that_."

"You did," Klaus agrees gently, finally getting up off the ground to sit next to her on his bed. "He's been caught. They've found all his victims. They're in a better place, and he'll never be able to hurt anyone again."

Tiffany keeps crying, but it's the happy kind of crying that feels good, not the gut-wrenching sorrow that it had been. Klaus feels it too, like everything has suddenly slotted into place and whatever was wrong in the world has been fixed. They did something good, something really good.

He's lighter than he's been in weeks, lighter than he's been since _The Incident_. The bite mark on his throat barely even aches, and he doesn't pick at it like he's been doing, even though it itches. Jason is gone, like Tiffany and all those other girls' killer. The pain of what they did will last, but it doesn't need to be all-consuming. For the first time in a long time, it feels like everything's going to be alright.

"Is Tiffany okay?" Ellie asks quietly, peering at the girl from over Klaus' shoulder. Her whisper is still loud enough for the other to hear but she doesn't seem to care.

"She will be," Klaus promises, patting the spot next himself as an offer to sit down. "It's been a long night for all of us, so I think we need some rest."

"But... donuts?" She says as she takes her seat, oblivious in all her nine-year-old glory. Klaus can't help but laugh, and even Tiffany lets out a shaky giggle.

"In the morning, okay? I need my beauty sleep." Klaus wiggles underneath the covers and fluffs a pillow under his head, still buzzing even through his own exhaustion.

"I guess that's fair," Ellie says graciously. "I mean, you have been looking all... you know."

"Wha— rude!" Klaus gasps in mock offense, but he does know. Ellie's the only one innocently-blunt enough to not feel bad about telling him that he's been looking like shit for the past couple weeks. Lack of food, sleep, and proper hygiene will do that to a person.

Klaus is determined to get better. He's been wallowing for too long, even though he hasn't wanted to admit it, and he hates worrying all the people he loves because he's been stuck in some stupid funk. Acting like nothing's wrong isn't going to fix anything.

He's gonna get a good night's sleep tonight, then finish all of his breakfast in the morning, and finally take a bath for the first time in forever when he's done. He's gonna eat some donuts with his mom and his friends and it's gonna be fucking great. Boom. All better.

"Klaus," Helena says, startling him out of his half-formed plans to be totally a-okay again. "Go to sleep."

Right. He's been staring at the ceiling for the past half-hour while repeating all of the things he's going to do to get better. He should probably stop thinking about it and actually get to the doing, huh?

"Right, sorry," he murmers, wrapping himself tighter in his blankets. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Leibling."

Morning comes startlingly fast. Klaus has a few nightmares but they're not too bad, not until the end. Quick deaths like gunshot wounds and standing in front of trains are much better than slowly drowning or being mauled by wolves.

Tiffany's death is the last of the night. A man, arrogant enough to show his face and grab her next to crowd of people. A vile soul hidden in someone that seems so normal. The feeling of his hands on her body is worse than the feeling of the knife in her stomach, but she can't scream around the hand covering her mouth and it stays there until she's too weak to do anything but cry silently. It's over in barely ten minutes, and for that they're lucky.

Klaus puts it out of his mind as he makes his way to the bathroom and vomits as quietly as possible, his brothers and sisters still asleep in their rooms. He got about four hours of sleep and it's not enough, it's never enough, but it's more than most nights and that's a victory that he'll take with shaky hands.

...This getting better thing might be harder than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus, honey, I'm very proud of you for admitting that you're not doing too great, but that's not how trauma recovery works.
> 
> Oh, he's covering his ears and yelling "I can't hear you." Now he's flipping me off.
> 
> Well. He'll figure it out eventually.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, if anyone wants me to add specific trigger warnings for any of these chapters please tell me! I'm not super good at determining what is or isn't necessary to mention and I'd hate to accidentally hurt anyone. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story where Klaus delves deeper into his powers and finds comfort in them instead of just fear, but because I love angst it still ain't all sunshine and rainbows. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
